


Deus Ex Machina

by potashiamu



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Betrayal, Blood and Violence, Complete, Dark, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Fist Fights, God Complex, Handcuffed Together, Historical Accuracy, Historical References, Internalized Homophobia, Intrigue, M/M, Mind Games, Period-Typical Homophobia, Reincarnation, Religion, Sad, Soul Bond, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:08:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 61,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25573339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potashiamu/pseuds/potashiamu
Summary: When a Templar Knight is forced to arrest a prince, a relationship soon emerges that might destroy them both. The knight has all of Light's ideas of a perfect world, and the prince is just as cunning as L. But will it still end the same way? Light/L, AU
Relationships: L & Yagami Light, L/Yagami Light
Comments: 29
Kudos: 34





	1. The Beginning

Luke was cleaning the blood from his sword as he surveyed the eerily quiet streets. The peasants who had not been killed had fled, wisely. A pile of uniformed corpses were the remains of the outnumbered city guards who had been left with no choice but to defend their townsfolk. The man named Waltier lay in the street, slain by Luke's own hand. This could have all been avoided, had the Archbishop not been so ready to overreact to the disobedience of a few unwashed heathens.

The knight's keen ear was picking up the now growing sounds of marching men. He watched calmly as a small regiment of guards, wearing the same clothing as Waltier, appeared from around the corner.

"Your Holiness," Luke called over his shoulder, at the Archbishop who was yowling like a kicked cat over how he had never been so egregiously misused in his whole life and so on and so forth. "Please calm yourself. The prince approaches."

This prudent advice merely spurred the Archbishop to begin screeching at the approaching royal, hurling curses and promises that God would smite him. Luke took the opportunity to command his bewildered men back into organized formation; a defensive position but with weapons sheathed. While he had absolutely no qualms about violence when necessary, Luke still harboured hope that they would be able to talk their way out of this fiasco. He risked being severely disciplined if the situation got any further out of control, and he didn't want the mark on his record.

"Archbishop," Luke hissed, his hand now gripping the upper arm of the insensible holy man. "Please calm yourself, and allow me to handle—"

"Insolent whelp!" The Archbishop snarled at Luke, breaking free. Then, to the approaching soldiers: "Halt! Halt I say! Your townspeople have committed an unforgivable offense against the Church! Approach and my guards will cut you down!"

Luke watched as the guards continued approaching anyway, before parting into a new formation and revealing one of the strangest looking men—more creature than human—Luke had ever seen. It was with incredible surprise that the knight noted the crown on top of the mess of black hair, indicating that this ghoul was likely none other than the prince himself.

The prince spoke. "What occurred here?"

xx

Earlier that day, Prince Lawliet of Strasbourg had been crouched over a multitude of maps and plans strewn upon an ornately carved desk. He was contemplating the boundaries of the Holy Roman Empire. Things had been changing in dangerous ways since King Phillip IV of France had ascended the throne, along with the naming of a new Pope, Clement V.

The prince's affiliation with the French throne offered the nominal protection of the monarchy, but Strasbourg had long been a city treated like a political plaything; its position so close to the mighty Rhine River and the shifting borders of France and Germany meant there was always tumult. When the Church in Rome had announced that it was time to install an Archbishop in the as-of-yet unfinished Strasbourg cathedral, the prince had identified that long anticipated machinations of a different kind were finally in motion.

Yes, King Phillip would step in against foreign dangers that would compromise the tax revenue from the currently French-held Strasbourg. But the interference of the Church and being forced into the smothering enfolds of its Holy Roman Empire was a different kind of threat to the freedom and diversity of Strasbourg, one that King Phillip would have little interest in dispersing. Mostly because Phillip was arrogant enough to believe that his plans to get Pope Clement in his pocket were going swimmingly, and that it would hardly be any time at all before he'd be manipulating a puppet church while looking like a godly, righteous king. Something as esoteric as protecting the freedom of a semi-independent Strasbourg would hardly be a reason for Phillip to upset his growing 'friendship' with the Pope.

And so, Prince Lawliet had watched avidly as emissaries from Rome travelled to and from the palace at Fontainebleau regularly; the only point on which new buddies Phillip and Clement were openly in conflict on was the fact that the king was outspokenly hostile regarding the Church's primary enforcer, the Knights Templar. The sentiment was spreading like wildfire amongst the common folk too, not helped by the fact that the Knights had used their conquest wealth to establish an informal banking system to which many people owed a _lot_ of money. In short, the people were beginning to see the Order as corrupted thugs, adding yet another worry to the prince's myriad concerns. Knights would likely be escorting the Archbishop, and the citizenry, having forcibly kicked out a Templar banking officer and murdering his accomplice the year before, might cause trouble once the party from Rome arrived.

Another man in Prince Lawliet's position might have felt he was staring down the barrel of a loaded gun (if he cared enough), or a spoiled royal, content so long as his luxury wouldn't be compromised, would have been happy to let the French King scratch it out over Strasbourg with the Church. But the prince was too proud, and perhaps too childish when it came to losing, to gift his city to either the King or the Church. Even on the very day the Archbishop was scheduled to arrive, the prince was still occupied with calculating and scheming how he might be able to leverage the situation into more years of independence for Strasbourg.

"My lord?" A mild, dignified male voice came through from the other side of the heavy wooden door of the Prince's office chambers.

"Leave me Waltier, I am occupied."

"Humblest apologies my lord, but our surveillance has spotted a vanguard of Knights. I believe the arrival of the Archbishop is imminent."

The prince sat, silent and unmoving except for the twitching of his bare feet, a long-held idiosyncrasy that demonstrated the prince was especially lost in deep thought. If it was as he suspected, this Archbishop would be the wedge that cleaved open his city, rendering it ripe for plucking by the Church while Phillip stood by, prioritizing his other agendas.

Waltier prompted the prince softly, familiar with his liege-lord's habits. "My lord, shall I greet them on behalf of the Lawliet throne?"

More silence. Waltier was unperturbed and continued patiently waiting.

At length, shuffling footsteps emanated from behind the door, which soon opened to reveal a pale, hunched man. Waltier regarded the prince's chalky complexion and noted that the dark circles under his eyes were even worse than usual.

"Yes, Waltier," Prince Lawliet said finally. "Put together a welcoming party and meet them at the gates. Make sure it goes well, the city folk are restless. I suppose I will have to meet with the Archbishop personally… but, that can wait at least until tonight. I need to call a council meeting first. Perhaps we should announce a ball in the Archbishop's honour… what do you think?"

"As you suggest, my lord."

The loyal manservant turned to carry out his orders when his sleeve was caught between the pinched fingers of the prince.

"Yes, my lord?"

"…Be careful, Waltier."

"Yes, my lord."

xx

The prince was standing over the lifeless heap that had been Waltier, stone-faced and repeating his question.

"What occurred here?"

"Your Highness," Luke stepped forward, knowing the imbecilic Archbishop would bungle this mess even further, "we were forced to respond. Your citizens formed a mob and threatened the safety of the Archbishop."

Luke watched as the owl-like eyes of the frail royal slid from subject to subject, taking in the corpses of the city folk, the fist-sized rocks and rotten fruit strewn about, the tomato pulp staining the robes of the Archbishop. He seemed about to speak when the Archbishop, discomfited by the momentary silence, began shrieking anew.

"We were attacked! Attacked by your accursed heathen citizens! They started all of it! Those who have escaped must be tracked down and executed!" The Archbishop's face was coloured with rage. "Sir Luke, I command you to—"

"Stand down," the prince commanded. "Stand down, everyone."

His guards, riled and anticipating what the holy man was about to command Luke to do, nevertheless immediately obeyed and reconfigured in a passive arrangement. Luke's own confused troops were looking at him for further orders, unsure they should observe the instructions of a foreign prince.

"Yes, stand down," Luke echoed. "For now."

Some of the electricity in the air abated, but the tension was still thick.

"Archbishop," Luke tried again. "The citizens in question have been adequately punished. We are not here to incite war—"

For what felt like the hundredth time that day, Luke found himself interrupted.

It had been like that all morning, the rest of their journey from Rome hardly better. Though Luke was devout in his duties as a Knight Captain, this devotion did not extend blindly to pompous, irascible morons like the Archbishop. Luke's low opinion of the holy man had plummeted in the month spent together, helped along by the fact that the Archbishop tended to be unaccountably disrespectful to Luke, whose own rank afforded considerable deference.

"They started it!" The Archbishop was screaming. "They are—"

It was the Archbishop's turn to be interrupted. Despite the incredible strangeness of his personage, the prince held an undeniable air of authority.

"Archbishop," the prince called, approaching even closer, to the distress of his guards who he'd ordered to remain as they were. "I am willing to discuss who is at fault and what shall occur next. I wish no further bloodshed in these streets this night."

The Archbishop would not be pacified. "No discussion! Our holy knights will raze your bedeviled city to the ground! Atone for these sins with your life! You, or you hand over your citizens! Or else!"

Luke pinched the bridge of his nose, trying hard to avoid his head exploding. Why did the Archbishop have to be _quite_ so stupid? The prince was being uncommonly reasonable, and of course the Archbishop was still throwing a tantrum over his mortified pride. Luke cast a look at the tomato on the holy man's robes, the Archbishop's rage-red face a near shade. It might have been funny had it not instigated the killing of a handful of citizens and the colossal mess for which the Archbishop was trying his best to sabotage negotiations. Luke was just about to try to intercede once more when the prince spoke again.

"And if I do? If I take sole responsibility for the actions of my citizens?"

"My liege!" A royal guard could no longer hold his tongue. "Do not throw your life away!"

The prince acted as if he hadn't heard a thing and continued. "I understand you have met with resistance at my city gates. This is most unfortunate, as I intended to welcome you to your new station with respect. I do not wish to draw the ire of the Church..."

 _Ha,_ Luke thought. _Easier resolved than I had worried. An obedient dog groveling in the face of its master, which should please even a fool like the Archbishop._

"…But neither is Strasbourg a society where we execute tomato throwers."

The sarcasm incensed the Archbishop. "You damnable fool! Heathen prince! I will see to it that you are—"

"I am declaring," the prince spoke as if he was trying to be heard over a crying toddler, "that I am willing to accompany you back to Rome to answer personally for the incident today. I wish for peace, and I am willing to make it with your Church."

For a moment, it seemed that the holy man had no idea how to react, especially since he was obviously dealing with someone so diametrically opposed to his own quick temper and pathetic ego. He looked on the cusp of continuing to hurl insults (his default state), but Luke saw the Archbishop's countenance change suddenly, and knew that the idiot believed he had stumbled upon a tremendous advantage.

But there was no advantage Luke could see; if they indeed took custody of the prince, all that would be accomplished was a long, pointless mission back to Rome that just delayed the inevitable full control the Church would take over Strasbourg. It wasn't as if they could kill or abduct the prince; the death of a French royal would give the King of France sound reason to demand the disbandment of the Knights Templar. All Luke could determine was that the Prince might be buying himself time. It was a smart play, considering.

"We'll happily escort you to Rome." The Archbishop was aiming a fiendish smirk at the prince, apparently unaware of what was so obvious to Luke. "Approach and we will grant you your wish."

Luke watched Prince Lawliet hesitate briefly, before continuing to walk towards the knights. His guards spent a confused moment before automatically following their liege.

"No," Luke heard the prince say. "You must stay here and protect the city. The council will rule in my place. I need two of you only… two of you ready for a long journey."

Several soldiers volunteered readily, and the prince quickly selected a couple of men. Soon, the three of them stood in front of the knights, well away from the rest of the royal guard.

"Arrest this man," the Archbishop commanded gleefully.

Luke couldn't believe it. "Your Holiness? You can't be serious. We can't _arrest_ the prince, the King of France will never—"

"Silence!" This last interruption threatened to overcome Luke's years of rock-solid discipline. "I command you to arrest this man and take him to face his justice in front of the Church."

"With respect, Your Excellency, this is… very ill-advised…" Luke had wanted to say 'this is insane' but had managed to hold his tongue.

"Defy me one more time, I will have you demoted and removed from the Knights altogether. Do you want that? Arrest him now and I will generously forget your insubordination."

A thunderbolt of rage pierced through Luke's very core. How dare this old pig menace his reputation, and in front of his own men! And on account of such a huge mistake as the one the Archbishop was about to make, no less. When Luke was inevitably promoted to Knight Commander (no matter what this moron threatened), he would never have to follow ridiculous orders such as these again. It was only in service to his end goals that the knight chose temporary obedience.

Luke gestured to one of his men, who brought forth a clinking pair of handcuffs, which provoked another justified outburst from the royal guard.

"Your Highness, you can't possibly…! Let us defend you!"

"No," the prince called out again. "Do not concern yourselves with me. It makes no difference now. You must defend the city and keep the peace at all costs. And here, take this back to the castle."

The soldiers backed down, reluctantly, with one of them openly astonished to be holding the crown Prince Lawliet had just given him as if it were no more than excess baggage. Luke wondered what the prince was playing at, putting up so little resistance. Perhaps trying to discern some insight, he stared intently into the large eyes of the prince while he secured one bracelet of the handcuffs around a thin, royal wrist. But Lawliet's eyes offered no clarification, they were inscrutable.

"How lucky for you, prince." The Archbishop had come to stand beside the two men, taking the remaining handcuff from Luke's hands. The knight's teeth set, sensing impending shenanigans. "Do you know who your new bodyguard is?"

When Luke realized the holy man was referring to him specifically, he opened his mouth to protest. Even the Archbishop had no authority to assign a Knight Captain to a babysitting mission like this, especially when Luke was meant to be heading to Jerusalem now that the Archbishop was installed in Strasbourg.

"Only the most popular knight in all of Rome. His admirers call him the Light of God."

This was really taking it too far, and for the first time, Luke seriously suspected that beyond just being a garden variety idiot, the Archbishop might be actively attempting to ruin him. Though to what purpose, it was impossible to say.

"Enough, Your Holiness," Luke growled lowly, laying a cautioning hand on the forearm of the Archbishop. "You are behaving with impropriety. And this is not my duty. I have instructions from Pope Clement himself to oversee the fort in Jerusalem—"

A heavy metal clink. Luke looked down in horrified disbelief at the locked bracelet of the handcuffs that now connected him to his new royal prisoner.

"Choose, _Light of God_ ," the Archbishop leaned in, whispering acidly. "Would you like to end your distinguished career at this very moment? Or would you like to obey my orders?"

Purposeful sabotage. It was incontrovertible. Luke would have to get to the bottom of this, but he had even more immediate concerns, such as the French prince who had overheard everything.

The Archbishop receded, speaking now so that all present could hear.

"Sir Luke, you are personally entrusted with escorting this man to Rome. I will remain here in the city, to fill my role as Archbishop as decreed by the Church. As such, and due to the extreme danger demonstrated by the scoundrels in this city, I will need my own guard. I can spare you two men only."

It wasn't worth protesting; though these were Luke's men to command, pointing out this fact would only further provoke the Archbishop who had already proven treacherous.

 _Damn him!_ Luke cursed silently. Never in his life had he been so insulted. Even amongst the Order of the Knights Templar, and from a young age, Luke had always been recognized as exceptional and treated with proportionate dignity. The youngest man to ever earn the rank of Captain now had to swallow his considerable pride, forced to leave the humiliation unanswered. His eyes traveled from the puce, sweating face of the Archbishop to the face of Prince Lawliet. A face like an abandoned, haunted house.

Luke inhaled, mastering himself. In a calm instant, he evaluated his (few) choices, and decided that safely escorting the prince to Rome was the likeliest way through which he could maintain his rank and reputation, while sniffing out whether some conspiracy against him was in fact at play.

"As you command, your Excellency," Luke muttered.

xx


	2. Surprises

"We make camp here," Luke commanded, indicating some old ruins that were long abandoned and moss adorned, sitting forgotten in the middle of a huge forest. The group had been on the road for almost two days, traveling in a cloak of tense silence, wary of each other but tacitly cooperative. The first thing Luke had established was his authority over the royal guards escorting the prince, something to which the prince had offered no objection; the man had been completely silent.

"You there," he spoke to the royal guards now. "You take care of the horses. My men will construct a fire. I'll find something to eat."

"Sir Captain," one of the Templars, a new officer, spoke. "Shall I accompany you? In case the prisoner tries anything…"

Luke shook his head. "I'll be fine. Now, follow my orders."

The knight had not let his guard down around the prince, who, though unlikely to have waited so long and come so far from his city only to try and pull something like a surprise attack now, still could not be trusted. Luke couldn't help but contemplate the prince's muteness, who had not even offered a remark when the two men had been forced to share the same horse due to the length of the handcuffs. It had been exceedingly uncomfortable and Luke promised that at the next town they'd have the chain extended. The other man had just nodded, as if it hardly mattered one way or the other.

"Follow me," Luke said to the prince now, who had no real choice, but provided no resistance anyway. The pair picked their way further into the forest, Luke foraging for edible mushrooms and plants. He would have liked to set up a snare to catch a rabbit; fresh meat would be a treat after the days of hard biscuits and scraps from the woods. However, Luke did not have any rope with him, he only had his sword and a small, well-concealed dagger hidden in his boot, neither of which would prove particularly useful for hunting.

Luke was lost in private considerations when, to his great surprise, those thoughts were interrupted by a quiet voice.

"Light might want to check that bush, over by the fallen long. The foliage appears to be of the elderberry genus."

Luke whirled to face the prince.

"Huh?"

"That bush over there—" the prince was indicating with a pale, spindly finger.

"No, I know what you said, but how do you know that and what did you call me?"

"I am very well studied on local flora and fauna. And I merely called Light by the title spoken by the Archbishop."

"My name isn't Light, it's Captain Luke, and I know you know that. That 'Light of God' sobriquet is silly and I hate it. I didn't take you for the petty type, your _Highness_."

"Lucien is fine," the prince intoned casually, pointedly ignoring everything else Luke had said.

"Lucien? What?"

"I am saying Light may call me Lucien—"

"Why would I call you that when you're still calling me 'Light'?"

"Light can do as he wishes, but he has my permission to use my given name."

Luke gave an exasperated snort of air through his nose, but decided that the royal was likely playing some kind of mind game, and Luke wasn't up for it. Nevertheless, he did go over to investigate the bush the prince had indicated, discovering that he had been correct. The side of the bush facing away from them was drooping with ripe, edible berries. Luke collected a few fistfuls into a handkerchief that could serve as a make-shift satchel.

Perhaps it was only natural that a pampered royal would have some scientific or botanical knowledge, given the private schooling with prestigious tutors. But Luke decided that it only confirmed his suspicion that this quiet man was a formidable intellectual, strange idiosyncrasies aside, and he reminded himself he'd have to take care to never get complacent.

Perhaps another twenty minutes had passed in silence, when the prince spoke again. "How long has Light been with the Knights?"

Luke frowned and shot a glance at his prisoner. Asking this question could have no possible advantage, perhaps aside from the mind games Luke had guessed at earlier. The prince was certainly feeling chatty all of a sudden. But if he thought familiarity would disarm Luke, then perhaps he was much less smart than the knight had given him credit for.

"I was born into it," Luke answered, with some pride. "My father served, too. But I am the youngest knight to ever make the rank of Captain."

He rounded on Lucien, staring down at the smaller man, who met his gaze with unblinking eyes.

"And it was hard-earned," Luke continued. "So if you think that weird little questions or talking in a peculiar way are going to distract me, you're mistaken."

Lucien's expression remained blank, but he lifted his uncuffed hand to his face, inserting a dirty thumb in between his lips.

"I was only curious about Light. That is my only motivation in asking."

Luke cocked an eyebrow, not bothering to once again correct the use of 'Light,' deciding that showing irritation would only validate that the prince could get under his skin. What was the point of getting to know each other? In a little over a month, they'd be in Rome and Luke would be assigned to another mission, and the prince would realize for himself that the Church was not always interested in negotiations. Things were getting crazy enough that Lucien might just find himself imprisoned or executed, even in spite of how it might anger the foolish French King.

 _Mind games, definitely,_ Luke decided. He pretended as if he hadn't heard the absurdity. "We should get back to camp, it's going to be dark soon."

The prince, Lucien, fell mute once more.

xx

Their hunger hardly satiated, the meager food Luke had scavenged was sufficient for the likes of him and his men, who were accustomed to hardship. At the campfire, the knight overheard the royal guards muttering to each other about how they were still starving. It just served to highlight that the one most used to a life of luxury amongst them hadn't uttered a word of complaint. Luke had to admit the prince had earned a modicum of his respect. Moreover, he was fortunate that the man the Archbishop had chained him to seemed fine with few words and enduring discomfort. This was infinitely better than a sniveling royal whiner insisting on his creature comforts.

Luke re-adjusted, trying to find a way to lie down where his chained arm wouldn't go numb quite so quickly. He scratched absently at the tender flesh under the manacle; much longer and the skin would be chafed and blistered. The knight reached over to his rucksack and ripped a shred of fabric off a rag, stuffing it between his wrist and the iron bracelet. Lucien watched this but said nothing, and Luke was soon attempting sleep again, deciding against advising the prince to get some rest. Luke was a Knight Captain, not a babysitter, and Lucien could care for himself.

He was able to rest easy. Though the prince was too close for comfort, Luke was safe from bodily danger, having ordered one of his men to watch them while Luke got some rest, and even taking the additional precaution that the soldier hold onto Luke's sword while he slept, so the prince couldn't do something like snatch the blade and hold the knight hostage.

The other three men were a little ways off, keeping watch for bandits and other subterfuge. Six men under most circumstances, especially three with Templar tunics, would have been sufficient to intimidate any potential attackers. However, Luke didn't trust the royal guards to be of any special help should he be in danger, and the handcuffs represented a significant handicap to Luke's otherwise exceptional fighting ability.

Still, by early next morning they would reach a major town, in which they could stay at an inn, behind securely locked doors. Sleep in a proper bed and meals they didn't have to scavenge for. In any case, Luke had slept under much worse circumstances, and after a few more bouts of tossing and turning, the knight fell asleep.

xx

When Luke awoke it was the deep, dark hours of late night. A slight touch on his shoulder had roused the knight, who assumed that it was time to take his shift at watch. But the touch had come from the prince, sitting crouched over Luke, thumb in mouth, eyes even darker and larger than usual. The knight immediately sat upright, intuitively knowing something was wrong. His suspicions were confirmed a moment later when a faint but terrible gurgling sound bounced off the trees and reached his ears… a sound he had only heard before on the battlefields. A dying man, choking on his own blood. Luke looked back to Lucien, who spoke in the quietest of hushed whispers.

"Bandits, I believe. Light's soldier left to urinate and has not returned. He has likely perished. Oh, he took Light's sword with him."

Luke cursed, unable to waste any time wondering why the prince had observed and deduced all this, but chosen to wake the knight far too late. Immediately Luke reached into his boot for his concealed dagger, gasping when his fingertips found the secret flap, empty of the knife.

"Looking for this?" The prince was holding out a dagger between his thumb and forefinger.

"What the—?!" Luke snatched the weapon from the prince, again unable to use precious time trying to figure out how, when or why the prince had stolen it. "Forget it. Let's not die tonight, alright?"

Luke rose, pulling the prince up harshly, his hand on the handcuff chain to silence the clink of metal on metal. Luckily the fire had consumed itself down to embers, giving off little light, which meant the chained pair had a faint chance of remaining undetected.

"We need to hide," Luke hissed into Lucien's ear, and the royal followed obediently to a half-tumbled wall that proved to be the best cover available. The pair had no real chance of running away, especially if there were several bandits. Luke could not risk calling out for the other soldiers, who were in all likelihood dead as well, and so he was forced to strategize their best chance at surviving on their own in spite of their disadvantage. It wasn't long before he detected the sounds of two other men nearby; a risky look over the ruins confirmed that a couple of bandits were investigating their campsite.

"…We wait until they leave, or until they come close enough to ambush." Luke's lips were so near the ear of the prince that a few strands of Lucien's black hair were tickling the knight's face.

Luke felt the prince nod.

"Try not to slow me down, if you want to live," came Luke's final instructions.

Fortune evidently did not particularly feel like smiling upon the two men, as the bandits continued poking around with eager, careless curiosity. Luke's teeth clenched harder the closer the thieves approached. However, even in the face of such great danger Luke was unafraid. He knew he was destined for a nobler death than being overrun by some backwoods criminals. If his left hand had been unchained, he'd have harboured no doubts for his survival whatsoever.

"Follow my lead," he whispered to the prince. The bandits were now directly on the other side of the rubble, and if they had chanced a look over the wall, they would have been face-to-face with their quarry. Their hiding spot too dark to permit any visual cues, the knight found the prince's hand, tapping it with three fingertips, then two, then one. A countdown.

"Now!"

Luke vaulted over the wall, taking the two bandits completely by surprise. He had landed nearly on top of one of them, and with ease Luke slit the man's throat with the small dagger. It was hardly another moment before the same knife was buried in the unprotected chest of the second man, Luke's aim for the heart perfect even under only starlight.

It seemed the day's surprises were not over, for Luke was shocked to see that the prince had kept up with him, shadowing his moves and providing no hindrance.

 _Who is this guy?_ Luke had time to think before he caught sight of another silhouette amidst the trees. An archer, nocking an arrow.

Automatically, Luke leapt and tackled the prince, landing hard on top of the other man in the dirt. An arrow seemed to bloom from the ground in the place Lucien had been standing but a second before. Letting the prince die and dangling a corpse from his wrist would only ensure Luke's journey ended here, too.

The archer was too slow, groping for another arrow, when a sudden impact shattered his teeth. The rock had hardly left Luke's hand when he was already running, having retrieved the dagger from the dead thief's chest. The knight collided with the archer who was cradling his cracked face his hands, blinded by his own blood. The dagger interrupted a scream, the final sound of the ill-fated bandit.

"Well, if he has friends, they'll have heard that," Luke said to the prince. "I need to find my sword."

Luke felt the other man moving in unison with him as they sprinted from tree to tree, trying to find the slain Templar who'd been safe-guarding Luke's long sword. The fact that they had encountered only enemies and no allies bolstered Luke's supposition that the others had been surprised and murdered one by one.

"There," came Lucien's hushed voice. He guided Luke's sight to a clump a few trees over. Even in the dimness, the grimy white of the Templar tunic was bright enough to carve an outline.

As Luke's fingers closed around the hilt of his main weapon, the silence of the night was torn by pounding footsteps. The knight hardly had time to defend the blow from the attacker's club. What the bandit lacked in skill he made up for with brute strength, and his inelegant weapon was testing the limits of Luke's sword. Still, it wasn't a fight Luke was in danger of losing, and the bandit soon yelped for reinforcements.

The knight felt Lucien stand against his back and realized that this meant the pair were probably surrounded now. Luke parried the club's whacks while risking a glance over his shoulder, just in time to see a royal foot connecting with the jaw of a filthy looking man holding a rusty short sword.

 _Incredible_ , Luke thought as he took advantage of his foe's momentary shock to deliver disarming blow, followed by a fatal one. He turned and drove his sword through the chest of the man Lucien had knocked out cold.

"Anyone else?" Luke asked the prince.

"I do not see or hear them," came the answer.

Luke led them to a larger-sized tree that provided some decent cover. Both men held their breath as they listened for the sound of more attackers, but the woods were silent.

"I doubt that there were only five," Luke spoke into the prince's ear once more. The two men were very close, but neither could risk recoiling until they were sure of their safety. "That man seemed like he was expecting more than one friend to come. But, as they say, there's no honour amongst thieves. The rest probably already made off with our missing horses… the horses are much more valuable than us anyway."

"I would agree," Lucien murmured back.

They waited, frozen, for what seemed like eternity. Luke could not detect any signs of more attackers. After he was finally assured, he exhaled the huge sigh he had been holding.

"We've got to get out of here," he said. "We'll have to do it on foot."

Lucien nodded.

"Nice fighting back there, by the way," Luke smirked, even though his face was obscured by the darkness of the night. "Your Highness is full of surprises."

"Lucien is preferable," came the reply. Obviously, the prince didn't feel like sharing how he'd gained the ability to defend against a surprise bandit attack.

"Fine, I can call you Lucien if that means you'll stop repeating yourself," Luke said as he pulled roughly on the chain, indicating it was time to keep walking, and perhaps a little sour that his rare compliment had been unappreciated.

xx

"You must be exhausted," Luke spoke to the prince. They had been walking through the underbrush for hours, luckily encountering no further danger. Dawn was beginning to seep at the corner of the sky in a rose blush.

Luke's comment went unanswered.

"Your Highness, you don't have to push yourself. I'm not being kind, I'm being practical. I don't feel like dragging your unconscious body into town."

Still, no answer.

"Your Highness…" Luke detested being ignored, and the prince's non-verbal sullenness was sparking irritation in the knight.

"Lucien…" Luke tried, finally. The prince's head swiveled owl-like, and he regarded the knight with wide, black eyes equally reminiscent of some kind of night creature.

"Look, I don't think I need to explain it to you, but we're in danger here." Luke made sure the prince had abandoned his childish silent game and was listening carefully. "We both need rest, but we're in the middle of nowhere, with no horses. With all due respect, I can't take you back to your city. I have my orders. And I don't recommend you try and kill me or cut my arm off, and make your own way back."

Luke paused, trying to interpret the lack of expression on Lucien's face.

"But I am not sure that's what you want to do, in any case," the knight continued. "You could have told those bandits who you are. I'm sure they would have been too happy to use you to negotiate a huge ransom. And, you could have killed me with that dagger you stole. But you didn't."

Luke expected to be met with more stubborn silence, but was answered instead.

"I do not wish to kill Light. Light need not worry about such a threat. I will not resist Light's mission, as I still desire to have audience in Rome."

Luke clucked his tongue, debating how to respond. There was little choice left to him, he did not trust the prince at all, but would be forced to act like it.

"Why do you want to talk to the Church so badly? You really believe that we'll leave Strasbourg alone if you just ask nicely?"

"This is one avenue I wish to explore, yes," Lucien answered.

Their pace had inadvertently slowed to a halt, and Luke muttered that they should keep walking.

"You seem capable enough, but you have gravely miscalculated, Lucien." Curiously, the knight felt like extending the conversation, trying to learn more about the mysterious man he was chained to. Sure, it may have been pointless, but the prince had revealed himself to be too interesting to ignore.

"Yes, I would agree," Lucien admitted, again catching Luke off-guard. "I delayed too long in taking preventative action against Light's Church. However, outright opposition to the Church is not necessarily what I desired, either. Strasbourg has always been a free city, truly aligned with neither church nor foreign monarchy."

"You're saying that you were trying to protect the status quo?" Luke was puzzled. The prince was most unusual. "Well then, it's too bad then that your status quo is sacrilege. You should have aligned with the Church and acknowledged God. Or are the rumours that you are Godless true after all?"

"Ah… rumours…" Lucien uttered cryptically.

"If they are only rumours, then you should have willingly allied with us. Strasbourg is in an invaluable position on the Rhine River. Your town would prove to be of great assistance in the divine work of the Church. You should be eagerly offering your assistance and loyalty."

"…It must be nice…" Lucien started, before leaving his non-sequitur unfinished.

"Nice for…?" The knight prompted, irritation colouring his voice again.

"Nice to be so confident. To have a clear course of action."

Luke didn't miss a beat. "Strong faith in the Lord will always guide you rightly. As clear as following a star in the sky."

"Is that so," Lucien remarked without inflection. "And towards what is Light following this star?"

"This rotten world is full of the damned, wretches like the bandits who attacked us. Once the sinners have been purged, mankind can live in a Paradise on earth once more. A place populated only by the righteous, those who serve the Lord and abide by his laws. I'm following the star, creating that Paradise as I go."

"I do not believe in this kind of Paradise. Man should not be ruled over in such a way, tended like a flock of brainless sheep."

"So, the rumours aren't rumours," Luke said icily. The prince may have earned some of his respect, but none of this negated the fact that Lucien was committing blasphemy, seemingly proud to do so. "You realize that such a stance, coming from a prince, is awfully hypocritical? Do you not demand that your citizens follow a set of a laws? And what human laws could supersede the divine laws constructed by God Himself?"

"The laws of Strasbourg were established based on the premises of equality and safety for the greatest majority possible. The behavior of Light's Church makes it clear that this sort of protection is only available to Light's fellow Catholics."

Luke laughed haughtily. "You are indeed a fool, Lucien. Equality is a worthless notion. There are many who deserve a place in Hell, and I'm willing to personally send them there. They threaten everything that is right, and pure. They have forfeit their place in this life. How arrogant for a man like you to believe his judgement superior to that of the Almighty."

"Light behaves as if he himself is a god—"

Lucien's reflexes were quick, but not quick enough to dodge the incoming fist of the Templar. Luke's punch connected directly with the delicate orbital bone of Lucien's right eye.

"I liked you much better when you were silent," Luke snarled, about to reset his stance, but his legs were swept from under him thanks to a low kick from the French royal. Luke crashed to the forest floor, though he quickly yanked his handcuffed arm, causing Lucien to fly forward into the ground beside him. The knight instantly mounted the other, knee on Lucien's solar plexus, the collar of the prince's shirt straining in Luke's clenched fists.

"You may be quick, but you will never beat me when it comes to a game of strength." Emphasizing his point, Luke slammed a few dizzying punches into Lucien's face, satisfied only when he could smell blood. The knight looked down, surveying the damage he had inflicted. He expected the prince to surrender back into mollified silence.

"Hey," Lucien groaned, "that really hurt!"

This unexpected petulance totally surprised Luke, who released the prince's collar and immediately rose from him. Something about the childish complaint had disarmed the knight utterly, and he felt a flicker of guilt at injuring Lucien so badly. Pushing the frivolous feeling aside, he roughly pulled the royal to his feet, dusting off the dirty tunic of the other, despite not knowing why he was doing so. He had lost his temper, unbefitting of a Knight. For the first time since their meeting, he felt unable to meet Lucien's eyes, and he hated it.

Lucien said nothing further, massaging his jaw.

"No more talking. Just walking." Luke jangled the handcuffs to punctuate the command. The prince stumbled after him.

They had only been walking for a few minutes, before Lucien's croaking voice came once more.

"Stop, please."

Luke turned, suddenly ready to oblige if the prince wanted another flurry of punches, but it was clear the other man was in a poor state.

"Light, I cannot see out of this eye," Lucien said, pointing to a mouse rapidly swelling his right eye shut. He was loath to admit weakness like this, but he was so dizzy he was genuinely worried he would end up fainting. A fate more embarrassing than being honest, to be sure.

Luke watched silently as the older man sank down to crouch in his favourite position. However, though Lucien wanted to chew on his thumb (it helped him think) he could not take his hand away from his face, the pain was too great.

They stayed like that for a while, until Luke knelt beside the prince, examining the ugly, violet bruises that looked especially severe against Lucien's pallid complexion. For some reason, Luke really did feel bad now, and he couldn't shake it.

"Look," he offered, "if we can find a stream or river, we'll take a rest and you can wash off. Cool water will help with the swelling. I remember crossing a bridge on our way through this forest, so the creek can't be that far now that we've walked so much. I'm sure you can make it."

Lucien looked at Luke through his remaining good eye.

"Come on, get up," Luke urged gently, not yanking on the handcuffs this time. Lucien rose unsteadily to his feet and the two men continued on their path at a loping pace.

xx


	3. Dreams

Luke stared at the river, burbling a pleasant sound at his feet. Morning was gilding the summer foliage above his head, and birds were warbling sweet notes that emanated from every corner of the woods. However, despite the serenity of his surroundings, Luke battled an unfamiliar tumult in his breast.

He had planned to bathe in the stream; a much awaited, proper bath in Strasbourg had been prevented by things rather rapidly going to shit. Bathing would help prevent disease and discomfort, he knew this, so why was he so full of hesitation?

The knight shot a glance at his unusual companion, still linked to him by a set of handcuffs. It was probably just the forced proximity with the weird prince that was setting Luke off-step. After all, Luke was used to life in a barracks, sharing amenities with other men in close quarters. He had long ago learned how to maintain control in these situations, out of necessity. Hiding his one fault as an otherwise perfect man of God.

"Come on," Luke said, "we can let our tunics hang on the chain to keep them dry. We both need to clean up."

Feeling incredibly shy, Luke began removing his boots and pants. Being handcuffed hampered removal of his chainmail, but after some maneuvering, the knight stood only in his undergarments and notably mortified.

"We both have to go in, the chain is too short," Luke remarked to the prince, who had made no move to undress. The fact that the knight was basically naked while Lucien remained dressed was unbearably humiliating, but Luke managed to keep his voice even and authoritative. "Besides, you need to clean up your face before we go into town."

At first it seemed as if Lucien was attempting to provoke the knight by ignoring him, but a second before Luke opened his mouth to snap, Lucien's remaining good eye slid up to look at him. The prince's expression was almost totally blank as per usual, but there was something in the eye contact that made Luke wonder if Lucien wasn't feeling bashful as well.

"Come on," Luke repeated, gently, punctuated by a soft tug on the handcuffs. "I'll help you with that swollen eye, if you want."

Luke waited as the prince began to animate slowly, removing articles of his clothing with reluctance. Maybe it wasn't a matter of shyness as opposed to this probably being the first time Lucien had bathed in anything less than the height of luxury.

The water was very cool, deep enough in parts to be waist high. Luke made a point of bathing as rapidly as possible. He carefully avoided looking at the exposed prince, as pale as old bone. Luke's disobedient subconscious stirred, and images from his secret nightmares flashed momentarily. He felt his cheeks redden, and in firm denial of the heat he felt there, scooped up handful after handful of the cold water, spilling it over his face. The matter didn't bear any further thought, and without consideration for the prince, Luke rushed to the shore.

He was halted by tension on the handcuff chain. Lucien seemed to have become frozen again.

"Light said he would help me with the swelling," the prince said, dead-pan.

"Right," Luke muttered. How badly he wanted to get dressed again before doing so. As devout as he was, there was still a certain part of his body that could prove stubbornly unpredictable and uncontrollable. The fact that his long-imprisoned nightmares seemed to be so forcefully rushing to the surface at a moment like this was enough to spark panic.

Taking a deep breath, Luke calmed himself before speaking. "I need my dagger. To let the blood out."

Lucien followed as Luke took the few steps to his boots, finding the concealed knife in it's now not-secret hiding spot.

Now there was no way to avoid facing the prince. Once more in the river, the two men stood in front of each other, bodies revealed and close. Luke couldn't recall having ever felt so uncomfortable, filled with a weird kind of tension that defied his ability to label. To distract himself, he began mentally reciting the Lord's prayer, running the words over and over.

Lucien's skin was warm to the touch. Luke wasn't gentle enough, and the prince couldn't help but jerk back as the knight's fingers pressed too hard against his damaged eye.

"Sorry," Luke muttered, reddening again. This close together, Lucien could probably see everything, blush and more. Luke took another deep breath and went back to his recitation of the holy words.

Much gentler this time, Luke pulled the raised, hot flesh of Lucien's swollen eye taut between his thumb and forefinger.

"This part will hurt, sorry."

"That is fine," Lucien permitted.

"…You'll be able to see much better afterward," Luke explained unnecessarily.

"That is fine."

It would have been better with a sharper blade, but being a small weapon for tight pinches, Luke was careful to keep the dagger honed. After a moment's hesitation, he dragged the edge of the metal across Lucien's injury, opening a small cut and triggering a sharp, cringing inhale from the royal.

Luke tossed the blade back near his boots before cupping his hands, filling them with chilly water.

_ Lucien could do this just as well for himself _ , Luke thought as he carefully washed the freely bleeding cut. But it would be stranger to stop now. As Lucien wordlessly received these ministrations, Luke persuaded himself that this was simply atonement for losing his temper and punching the prince in the first place. Obviously, he had no affection for this enemy, but neither was it responsible to drag 'damaged goods' all the way back to Italy.

"Thank you Light, that is much better," Lucien said. Once the fluids had been allowed to flow out freely, and with the coldness of the water, the mouse that had formed over his eye had reduced rapidly.

"Sure," Luke answered dismissively. "Let's get out now."

By means of what seemed a tacit agreement, both men had exited the river and redressed while affording each other the most privacy possible under the circumstances. Once he was clothed again, Luke let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Potential crisis averted.

"There's an herb that will make a good compress," the knight explained as they began walking again. "If you knew about elderberries, do you think you can recognize dill? It'll help your cut stay healthy and heal quickly."

"I can help Light locate dill. I appreciate Light's care."

"Don't mention it. It'll do me no good if you get that cut infected. And," Luke added, almost as an afterthought, "it's sort of force of habit. A good soldier does what he can to prevent wounds from festering."

"Curious, though," Lucien spoke around his thumb that had found its familiar place between his lips. "Does not Light's church declare women who employ herbs for their medicinal use to be witches?"

Luke stopped walking for a moment, temper flaring dangerously. More of Lucien's mind games? Or just picking a fight?

"Those women make deals with Satan for unnatural influence. How dare you compare military men using medicine with soulless hags who forsake the Lord and use their power to corrupt."

"Medical treatment is not corrupting—"

"Enough chatter," Luke cut in, tugging on the handcuffs. "You act like you want to get punched again."

Pointedly ignoring Luke's command, Lucien did not stop talking.

"Light does not tolerate being questioned very well."

"That's because it's not me you're questioning. By expression your doubts to me, you're blaspheming against God himself."

"So, one could conclude that Light is equivalent to God."

"Not equivalent, but I _am_ the instrument of God. It will be through me that a new world is realized, a world of the righteous and moral. So this inane banter that you're spewing is a threat to the creation of Paradise itself."

"I see," Lucien spoke distortedly, pulling on his lip as he deliberated. Luke regarded this bizarre habit with disgust, thinking to himself how juvenile the prince was in that moment.

"If you see, then you should know better. If I were you, I'd have a shred of self-preservation, and even with the heart of a sinner I'd try a little harder to hide it."

"I suppose I could speak falsely, but I generally avoid this unless for some tactical purpose." Releasing his lip and shoving his hands into the folds of his tunic, the prince added, "and I enjoy speaking honestly with Light. I find Light's company stimulating, even if his religious views are ignorant."

Luke wanted to roll his eyes. These accursed mind games would burst a blood vessel in Luke's brain before this trip was over.

"I like Light. Perhaps Light could become my first friend."

"Your friend?" Luke laughed derisively. Ridiculous! That settled it, this was some kind of game the prince had crafted, for some as-of-yet undetermined advantage. Suddenly, Luke decided if it was a game the prince wanted, a game he would have. And lose.

"Alright," the knight continued smoothly. "I'll be your friend."

And then, even though it wasn't very friendly, Luke could not help but add acidly, "I'm not surprised you haven't had others. Not with the way you speak so strangely, stare through people, or chew on your thumb like a babe torn too early from its wet-nurse."

"These idiosyncrasies that Light mentions merely help facilitate better thinking."

Luke back-tracked, _ad homonym_ attacks not in his character. "It's fine. I don't really mind them, anyway."

The two walked on silently, Luke staring resolutely at the path ahead and Lucien's eyes cast downward. For a time, the knight was preoccupied by trying to decipher the 'rules' and thus, the end purpose of the game that Lucien was playing. And why he was provoked so easily by Lucien, of all people.

After a while though, his thoughts turned toward future plans.

"I think we're about an hour away from the town," Luke stated, having calculated this by the sun's position in the sky, telling him how long they'd been walking and allowing him to guess the rough distance they'd covered. "We'll go to the blacksmith's and get the chain lengthened. Someone will have an herb garden and we can find some dill. And I also have enough gold to purchase a horse. After all, I can't let his majesty get blisters on his royal feet from all the walking."

"I also recommend that Light removes this tunic," Lucien said, pulling at the indigo fabric adorning his torso. "If I appear to be from the castle, it may motivate the townspeople to kill Light and kidnap me for ransom."

Luke halted, taken aback. He had been planning on asking the prince to remove it, but he hadn't expected to receive the suggestion from Lucien himself.

"Why would you… I mean, you're right, but why would you tell me that?" Then, adding hastily: "don't say it's because we're friends."

"Very well. It is because although this is one scenario in which I return to my city, I will have solved none of the dilemmas I am facing and will merely be delayed from my ultimate goal of meeting with the Church. And, I would prefer to make this trip with Light. And… I do not wish for Light to be killed."

Luke decided there was no way the prince could be genuine, but was glad that at least for the immediate future, their goals were in alignment. Failing in his task and getting killed, or having the prince stolen from him, or even the prince escaping… any of these outcomes would mean the end of Luke's dreams of becoming Knight Commander.

"Fine by me," Luke smirked. "And you like me so much you don't even mind still being chained to me? I can't have you escaping, now. I'm sure you understand."

"I do," Lucien replied with total seriousness, as if the idea of resisting had never even occurred to him. "I will not interfere with Light's mission, Light has my word."

"Well, forgive me if I can't take you at your word just yet. Though I'm sure as our friendship blossoms, I'll come to trust you." Luke's lips twitched with suppressed laughter.

"I understand," Lucien said simply, while the knight wondered suddenly if it really was a mind game, and not that the prince was just an incredibly stupid fool instead.

"Alright, lift your arm," Luke ordered, changing the subject. He had retrieved his dagger and began cutting along the seam of the prince's shirt. Removing it and the expensive looking belt Lucien had been wearing, the knight lifted some of the underbrush and shoved the articles deep inside, hiding them.

"It's too bad we can't risk selling that fabric," Luke said off-handedly. His irritation with Lucien had faded a little and he didn't mind talking more. "That colour of dye would have fetched a heavy sum."

The two once again resumed their journey, Lucien following a step behind the knight, hunched over and now looking especially pathetic in his undershirt.

xx

The two men walked into town, Luke vigilant and full of trepidation. It was unlikely that a small town two days outside of Strasbourg would host some kind of prince loyalists, but you could never be too careful. Losing their men to those bandits had put them at a tremendous disadvantage, to be sure.

True to his intentions, the first place Luke sought out was the blacksmith's. The pain of being attached by only a foot of chain was beginning to become unbearable, and the rag he'd stuffed between the cuff and the skin of his wrist was no longer helping.

The blacksmith was a huge man with a ruddy complexion who carried himself like he was all brawn and no brains. Luke knew better than to dismiss someone as a threat just because they looked like an idiot, but given the situation he had few options but to place an amount of trust in this smelly oaf.

"Good day to you, Monsieur," Luke implemented one of the most effective weapons in his arsenal: a charming voice and his handsomest of smiles (this weapon was especially fatal with females). "My name is Sir Luke of the Knights Templar. I recently apprehended a criminal, and the only way I could guarantee his compliance was with these handcuffs. However, we still have a journey ahead, and I was hoping I could implore you to lengthen the chain while ensuring my captive doesn't escape."

Lucien had immediately noticed the syrupy change in Luke's demeanour, and surmised rightly that this talent probably made it very easy for the younger man to get what he wanted.

Although, truth be told, the smithy looked more on the immune side to Luke's wiles. Staring with unmasked distrust first at Luke, then a long, lingering glare at Lucien, he didn't immediately reply to the knight. Instead, he called a pair of names into the back of the shop, whence two teenagers emerged. Most likely the apprentices of the blacksmith.

"A Templar now?" The man finally addressed Luke with a voice that had a very strange tone to it. Luke was already on high alert, discomfited by the appearance of the other men. While he maintained the conversation, the knight calculated the chances there was a trap, and if so, how he could avoid being in it when it sprung.

"Yes, a Templar. With the authority of the Church, and—"

"Far be it from me to no’ help a man of God," the smith smiled abruptly. "You got coin? Give me a gold piece an' we'll call it even."

Luke hated to reveal the whereabouts or the weight of his coin purse in public like this, it was just asking to be robbed again. Paying the blacksmith, the knight found himself wishing he had circumvented this town altogether, no matter how badly they needed a horse or wanted the chain lengthened. He had a bad feeling.

"Stand over here." The blacksmith gestured to a huge stump of a log, getting Luke and Lucien to stand on opposite sides, the chain outstretched over the wood. The huge man produced an iron peg, and with one massive swing on a mallet, jammed the peg through the chain links and into the stump. Maybe the smith could be trusted after all; this way he could cut the chain on Luke's side and ensure Lucien had no ability to escape. Maybe the two teenagers were just there just in case the prince should try to do so anyway.

Luke watched as the blacksmith turned and selected a giant tool with a sharp edge and, wary he would swing this too, the knight strained as far away as the chain would allow. Hopefully the smith's aim was accurate again, and Luke wouldn't lose a hand.

The tool came down, the chain severed. Lucien's right arm fell to his side. Luke spent an instant confused before cold dread shot from the soles of his feet upwards, chilling him to the bone. He might be able to reach for his sword and take out the blacksmith in time, but all three men and while attached to this heavy stump…

"This is a direct threat to a high-ranking member of the Church, there will be consequences—"

The smith interrupted Luke. "Aye, there may be, but ahm willin' to risk 'em for tha very real reward ah think a'll be getting' from the castle, returnin' the prince an' all,"

Luke was usually more careful with his facial expressions, but he couldn't keep the shock from showing for an instant.

"Ya see," the burly man explained, grinning, "a messenger tol' us to be on tha lookout. That tha prince had been chained up to a knight… big kerfuffle in the ol' city, ya know."

"We're gonna be rich, boss!" One of the sidekick louts finally spoke. The three smelly comrades began giggling with glee.

His fate better in his own hands, Luke took advantage of the smiths' premature celebration to begin reaching for his sword, ready to fight to the end, when Lucien spoke.

"I do not want Light dead."

The shocking remark was enough to freeze Luke for a moment, long enough for the knight to lose any conceivable advantage. All attention back on him, Luke was powerless as he was restrained. More townspeople had arrived and the knight was left with his life, though he was stripped of everything else down to his undershirt and trousers—his sword, tunic, boots, chainmail, coin purse and rosary were gone, even the insult of removing the thin silver circlet on his head that identified his rank as Captain was not spared.

Lucien watched as the humiliated knight was carted away to the town dungeon.

xx

Luke had the whole night to contemplate his failure. After deliberations, the townsfolk had decided against bringing Luke to Strasbourg along with the prince, that his punishment of being drawn and quartered would be carried out much more immediately. The 'at dawn' kind of immediately.

Why had Lucien distracted him? Luke raged. He would have much rather died with his sword in his hand and a measure of dignity. Instead, he would be dragged behind a horse, hanged until nearly dead, and cut down only to be mounted on a wooden frame where he'd be disemboweled and castrated before finally being decapitated and his body cut to pieces.

Still, part of him was in total disbelief that this is how it would end. He had been so sure he was destined for something more. Not dishonoured and doomed like this. And, if being brutally honest, scared. He was only twenty-three years old.

He had long ago exhausted all possibilities of escape. There was no window in the freezing cell, and the iron bars were locked tight. He had not been given food or drink once, and no other opportunity to interface with the guards had presented itself. They had ignored his shouts and taunts. They’d even removed the iron circlet of the handcuff, preventing Luke from using it as a weapon or tool. Perhaps he would have a chance tomorrow, though deep down, Luke knew it was unlikely.

Had this somehow all gone to Lucien's plan? Maybe the prince would be in the front row, gloating as Luke's guts were spilled. The prince didn't seem one to hinge everything on a gamble like counting on such a reaction from random townsfolk, but then again, what did Luke know about the other man anyway? What surprised Luke most was the keen sense of betrayal he felt. Sure, Lucien had outwitted him, tricked him… but he hadn't really _betrayed_ him. There had been no trust to betray.

Luke sighed. His heart felt like lead, and he was ragged with exhaustion, having only gotten a couple hours of sleep in the last three days. He lay down on the damp floor, shivering and miserable. He passed an hour or two praying through chattering teeth, until finally his words slowed, then stopped, and he fell into sleep without meaning to.

xx

One of these dreams, now of all times, made it seem like Luke might be damned after all. And the fact that it was about Lucien seemed to be the crowning sin.

Lucien is there, in front of him. They are back in the river together. Lucien has blood on his face, Luke sees. He takes water into his hands and washes the blood off the other. I want to be gentle, Luke thinks, Lucien must be in a lot of pain. He can feel the rushing stream caressing his naked skin, but it's not nearly as cold as the real river had been, and the current seems to be pushing him ever closer to his companion. The closeness fills Luke with an excitement that's locked away from all conscious aspects of Luke's life, a pleasure that he only feels in this dream world. A sin. A fantasy that, ever acted upon, would result in death, followed by Hell.

But Luke can never resist in these dreams, and he succumbs to the pushing waters until his body is against Lucien's. He moves his hand from washing the prince's face to become entangled in Lucien's dark, wet hair, the locks running like ink over his fingers, his other hand sliding around Lucien's slender, white waist. Luke can feel the breath from Lucien's upturned face on his own lips, and, filled with desire, he stoops for a heady kiss—

-Luke shot awake, feeling both the hammering of his heart and the stiffness of his arousal. He had no time to process the intense self-loathing and shame that always flooded him after these dreams about other men, because he realized he had been woken by a tapping on the bars.

"Do I have Light's attention now?" Lucien's distinct voice. A deep but momentary conflict twisted Luke's stomach; he wanted to get as far away as possible from the subject of his filthy dream while fighting the urge to rush up to his former prisoner.

"Come to dispatch me yourself?" The knight spoke from the floor, affecting disdain but barely managing to keep the emotional strain from tightening his voice.

"Perhaps Light would like to lower his voice, lest he attract the attention of the sleeping guards," Lucien whispered in his familiar monotone.

Finally, Luke rose to his feet, striding over to the bars until he was mere inches away from Lucien's silhouette… as if to challenge the dream as the meaningless temptation from the Devil that it was.

"I guess I really was wrong about you not being the petty type," Luke said wryly. "I knew you were childish, but paying a late-night visit just so you can rub it in my face—"

"That is not what I want, and Light needs to keep his voice down."

Dumbfounded, Luke heard a click, followed by the unfortunately loud squeal of the cell door opening on its hinges.

"What are you doing?" Luke asked, almost pleading. It had never happened before, but in this moment, the knight was well and truly at a loss.

"I am releasing Light from prison. I told Light I do not wish for his death."

"Is this a trap?" Luke inquired, stupidly.

"It is not." Lucien turned to walk to the way out, but Luke caught his sleeve.

"Lucien, I… If you want revenge, or whatever this is… just take it."

"Can Light please shut up and save his questions for after we have escaped the town?"

Luke gaped. Was this… divine intervention? Perhaps this was somehow God rescuing his faithful servant? In a moment, Luke resolved to take the chance, get out of here, and stay alive.

He followed Lucien to the bottom of the stone steps that lead out of the dungeons.

"Light need not worry. The guards are in a drugged sleep I ensured with a bottle of wine. They should not wake as long as Light is quiet."

Even in the dark, Lucien could feel the other waiting for further explanation.

"A celebratory present from a grateful, rescued prince. No one was suspicious," Lucien supplied finally.

The knight followed at a distance and watched as his skeletal companion strode through the dungeons, unnoticed and unhindered. Finally, by the light of some candles, Luke saw that the prince was holding a large satchel and Luke's sheathed long sword. Figuring out how or why Lucien had taken them could wait, but it finally affirmed that the prince was serious about springing Luke and getting out of town.

Entrusting his fate to God, and to a lesser extent a blank-eyed, hunch-backed royal, Luke escaped.

xx

His fear of being re-apprehended finally subsiding, Luke sat quietly beside Lucien under a roof of upturned tree roots, far from the main road. His personal effects had been restored to him, Lucien somehow managing to get everything back, save for Luke's coin purse.

"Why did you do that, Lucien?" Luke asked softly.

"Because Light is the first friend I have ever had," Lucien replied, crouched with his knees against his chest. It was hard to tell in the moonlight, but Luke thought he saw the upturned corner of Lucien's lips.

"You can't be serious," the knight said, but without vehemence. "I bet you just did this so you can kill me yourself more dramatically, later on."

"Light knows that this line of reasoning makes no sense. It is unlike Light to say such a thing."

Luke sighed, reclining a little deeper. His arm brushed against Lucien's body, and unbidden, Luke's dream rushed to the surface. The knight sighed again, a sigh from the soul. What a mess.

"Has Light had any sleep?" Lucien was peering into Luke's face, a little too close for the knight's comfort. Though the prince himself was obscured by shadows, from where he was sitting he could see Luke's face clearly in the moonlight. The knight looked so beautiful, like a saint carved in marble. Lids heavy with tiredness hid amber eyes.

For some reason, Luke couldn't push Lucien away, and he had no snide remarks. _I'm just too exhausted, that's all_.

"Not really," the knight admitted in a thick voice. He shouldn't be so sleepy under these circumstances, and he tried desperately to fight off slumber. He just needed a little rest before walking some more…

"I believe I know what will help put Light's mind at ease," Lucien intoned. "Will Light give me his left hand?"

"Hm? I mean… I guess so…" Luke hesitantly outstretched his left arm. Once more, the wretched dream reared its head and Luke swallowed hard.

A loud clink shocked Luke into wakefulness, but too late to prevent the handcuff that now dangled from his wrist. Baffled, he watched as the prince locked the other manacle around his own thin arm.

"Why?"

"I have told Light I have no desire to interfere with his mission to bring me to Rome. I believe these handcuffs will put Light's mind at ease that I will not attempt escape, and that I would not take such action if I merely wished to murder Light in his sleep."

The knight lifted his arm, noticing that the bracelets were lighter and larger, and the chain was significantly longer. Perhaps it would still be a hindrance in a fight, but curiously, Luke had to admit that being secured to each other helped quiet something within him.

"Well, then, if we're pretending that this couldn't just as easily be part of a long con," the knight half-smiled, "shouldn't you give me the key?"

Luke watched as Lucien gave a smile, a real one. His stomach twisted, like he was nervous about something. The key was revealed, held between the prince's thumb and forefinger, who even turned his back so that Luke could make a decent pretense of hiding it on his person. Even though it was yet another game, Luke felt the calmest he had been since the ordeal had started.

"Feel free to sleep," the prince recommended.

After giving a long moment over to deliberating and realizing that he couldn't avoid sleeping forever, Luke relented and lay back fully. He was quiet for so long that the insomniac royal assumed he was finally resting, when Luke spoke.

"Hey, Lucien? I know I'll probably regret saying this one day, but… thank you. Thank you for rescuing me."

"You're welcome," came the prince's reply.

Luke was about to remark on Lucien's use of an actual, real pronoun, but settled for smiling to himself instead, soon falling into a much needed, dreamless sleep.

xx


	4. Sins

Luke stared at the prince's profile, having been woken by gentle, early morning sunbeams. He should have been spending this dawn being executed, but thanks to the enigmatic man beside him, he was alive.

The prince seemed to be sleeping, sitting upright. Despite it being a little unnerving, Luke was glad the other man was finally getting some rest. Lucien's face was still badly bruised from their little spat, but the skin that was unmarred was the colour of the moon. Ashen crescents seemed to linger permanently underneath the prince's eyes, and Luke found himself wondering what stresses, dilemmas and sleepless nights had etched them there. As his eyes traveled lower, past Lucien's nose and to his lips, his dream in the prison cell violently reasserted itself and Luke flushed with shame.

It was not a moment later that Lucien woke, turning to face Luke.

"Yes, Light?"

Luke narrowly managed keeping the embarrassment off his face and replied with convincing normalcy. "I was just about to wake you. We should get going."

Luke got up, straightening his clothes and avoiding looking at Lucien.

"These handcuffs are much better but they're still hard on the skin," Luke muttered. His arm hadn't gone numb during the night, which was an improvement, but the skin under the metal was itching and irritated. Any injury was to be prevented if it could be helped, as any wound risked the chance of festering. Pushing the cuff as far down his forearm as the circumference would allow, Luke tore a strip of fabric from the hem of his tunic and wrapped it around his wrist like a bandage. When the bracelet was back in its normal position, the fabric did a great job of preventing friction.

Lucien watched as Luke hesitated, then tore a second strip of cloth.

"Give me your arm," the knight said, reaching out for Lucien's hand.

 _It's only to prevent unnecessary infection_ , Luke told himself as he wound the strip around Lucien's wrist, which admittedly had much more room in the handcuff than his own. Then the knight noticed something that set his heart racing.

 _He has goosebumps?_ Luke couldn't help but see the small raised bumps spreading from where the pads of his fingers had brushed the inside of Lucien's wrist. Without thinking he looked up into the royal's face, and in the moment of eye contact, the two men shared something unspeakable.

Luke was the one to break the peculiar atmosphere, clearing his throat and muttering that Lucien's wrist should feel better from now on. The unlikely companions resumed their long journey, neither appearing eager to speak.

The knight spent hours in a private hell, turning over every possible facet of the situation at hand. He had never, ever told another living soul about his dreams, except for one singular incident during Confession when he had been young. He knew too well that sexual thoughts of any kind were impure, and usually, they occupied no place in Luke's conscious mind. But the fact that these dreams, arriving around the age of twelve, were filth-ridden and about other men terrified Luke. Positive his soul was in danger, he had confessed to the school priest, who had confirmed to young Luke that such thoughts, even in dreams, were the most egregious of sins and a sign of the Devil's corruption.

Even at that tender age, Luke was already showing incredible signs of promise and distinction, and was receiving special treatment and training as a result. When the priest had alluded to these privileges being taken away and Luke and his family being disgraced, the child had quickly backtracked and assured the priest that it was merely a vile test from Satan and that he would repent fiercely. The priest had relented when Luke promised to confess any further such… incidents.

But from that day, Luke had imprisoned any impulses deep within him, and for the most part, succeeded in pretending the dreams didn't happen, certainly never mentioning them again to another living soul. But now he was chained to man who, however unlikely, seemed to be igniting these forbidden desires as easily as throwing a lit torch into a puddle of oil.

 _It's just another test of my faith,_ Luke persuaded himself. _If I can resist temptation and bring Lucien to the Pope and fulfill my task, the Lord will finally grant me the station I deserve._ _Maybe, I've even been given this task because I am the only one who can convince this heretic prince of God's power, and turn him into our ally._

If Strasbourg declared overt allegiance to the Church, it would be an incredible victory; a strong foothold in bringing the rest of France into the Holy Roman Empire. Finally, the pieces seemed to fall into place… Lucien calling him his first friend, Lucien helping him escape… the affection Luke had obviously fostered within the prince could be weaponized, wielded deftly by Luke who would convert the royal.

"How are you feeling, Lucien?" Luke inquired, having fully embraced the role of the prince's friend and comrade.

"I am fine, Light need not worry," Lucien answered.

"Well, tell me if you need a break or if you're hungry. I think we have about one more day of walking before we reach the next town. We might be able to figure out a way to make quick money and purchase a horse. Going into town should be a lot less risky now that we're properly out of France. After all, I can only reasonably expect you to daringly spring me from prison once."

Lucien took in the dazzling smile Luke was firing his way, and the royal noticed that the knight had suddenly adopted that charming tone of voice he'd used with the blacksmith; the one he used when he wanted something.

"That is fine," the prince agreed. "Though, if we do procure more funds, perhaps Light and I could visit a bakery or patisserie. I would like to eat some cake."

"Cake?" Luke laughed. "And here I thought you weren't the pampered type. You really love sweets, then?"

"I love sweets," the prince confirmed.

"Well we can definitely try, I don't see what the harm would be. Anything else?"

"That is all."

Luke continued laughing. "Not even 'I want to stay in an inn? I want to sleep in a real bed and have a real bath?'"

"Of course these would be preferable, but I understand that a horse is the first priority."

"A horse and cake, you mean," Luke grinned charmingly. "Tell me Lucien, what's castle life like? Full of sweet things?"

"Hmm," Lucien intoned, thinking. "I suppose it is full of sweet things. But also lots of meetings, missives and planning."

"Not a lot of sleep either, I take it," Luke added, gesturing with a fingertip to the area under his eye. Self-consciously Lucien raised his own hand and touched the dark circles on his face.

"No, this is true. But I do not require much sleep."

"You know, a lot of princes would just be grateful for the luxuries of their noble birth and leave the ruling and strategizing to advisors. But you seem to be very directly involved in ruling your city."

"This is also true," Lucien acknowledged.

"Why?"

The prince raised his grubby thumb to his lips, and while Luke wanted to pull it away, he thought it would appear more generous to let Lucien be.

"Like Light, I want to work towards a better world."

Luke's game faltered, and when he spoke, it was out of genuine curiosity.

"Like me?"

"Yes. When Light explained his vision for a world that protects the rights of the noble and shelters the pure, I felt that my goal as a ruler is arguably the same."

"…We just have different definitions of the 'noble' and the 'pure.'" Luke said.

"Indeed. I even believe that were he to re-evaluate his stance on the values of freedom and equality, and his allegiance to an organization like the Church, Light would make an excellent ruler himself."

The extreme offense of Lucien's disrespect to the Church collided with the surprising pride Luke felt at the compliment. Who was playing with whom?

Luke scoffed, controlling his reaction carefully. "I suppose you're right again, in a way. I will be a great ruler as the Knight Commander. And you're correct in that I don't need the Church beyond their resources and soldiers to command. I will be the perfect instrument of holy justice on this earth. Having to yield to another authority is just a hindrance."

 _This is definitely the Knight_ , Lucien thought to himself.

In his investigations of the church and gathering of intelligence, the prince had intercepted secret messages between King Phillip IV of France and Pope Clement V in Rome. It was common knowledge that the King held animosity towards the Knights Templar, citing reasons such as rampant corruption and immorality. However, Lucien had deduced that the real reason was the tremendous financial debt the King owed the Knights Templar, who in addition to waging holy wars, administered an early sort of banking system. The wealth of the Knights was not _quite_ the property of the Church, but close enough that the King wouldn't be able to flagrantly, illegally seize it. One of the reasons Lucien had gambled on delaying what seemed like the 'inevitable', was because he predicted that the King was going to make moves to disband the Knights Templar for good, and that a massive conspiracy was underfoot. If this immediate threat was removed, Strasbourg would probably enjoy peace and freedom for the rest of Lucien's lifespan.

Likely, the King was busy digging up (or fabricating) incriminating evidence that would prove the Knights as heretics or sodomites, just waiting for the time to strike. The Church, of course, was anticipating this move to some degree, and to buy time was making a show of punishing a few chosen Templars; sacrifices to make it seem like the Church was cleaning ranks. There was a young Captain who had made a name for himself, pulling off near-miraculous victories on the battlefields of the Crusades, said to be exquisitely handsome and adored by his troops and nearly everyone else in Italy. Things had even gotten so far that the knight had even been nominated for sainthood, should he perish romantically in holy battle.

But the Church had little tolerance for an individual who wielded so much influence, especially since there were rumours that the famous Captain might not be blindly loyal. The message Lucien had intercepted had hints that this Captain could be offered as one of King Philip's sacrifices… a high profile, yet secretly mutually beneficial execution.

When Lucien had seen Luke for the first time, taking in his youth, beauty and the silver circlet on his head that indicated his Captain rank, he had wondered if this was the man written about. The fact that the Archbishop had been too ready to send him on a fool's errand, and, after rather publicly deriding him, had all but confirmed it.

But it was now, hearing Luke speak about his singular ambition and the way he talked about himself as if he were godlike, that Lucien knew he held a powerful bargaining chip indeed. It seemed the knight had no idea of how much of a threat he was to the Church he served.

"Hey, look." Luke's attention was on a bushy plant with feathery leaves and yellow clusters of flowers.

"Dill," Lucien confirmed, stowing away his private thoughts. The cut above his eye was healing well, and a dill compress to prevent infection seemed hardly necessary. But he did not resist as Luke pinched off a few leaves, mashing them into a paste between his fingers, finally approaching Lucien, coming close.

"Hold still," Luke said. In a jerky, unsure motion that looked like he was second guessing himself, the knight raised his cuffed hand to Lucien's face, taking gentle hold of the royal's chin. With the delicate touches of his free hand, Luke applied the medicinal paste to Lucien's cut. Both men wondered at the curious fact that Luke's hand seemed to linger longer than needed at the prince's jaw.

The knight cleared his throat, persuading himself that he was doing a great job reinforcing Lucien's affection for him. They automatically continued walking.

"So you know plants and their uses," Luke began, wanting to return to the easy conversation they were having before things had gotten heavy. "What else does a prince learn?"

"Many things," Lucien answered. "Languages, sciences, philosophy, politics, mathematics, medicine…"

"Sounds like we grew up pretty similarly, aside from the fact that you grew up in a castle and I grew up on the battlefield."

"I had assumed Light was highly educated. A rarity in these times. Perhaps that is why Light's company is such a pleasure."

"You flatter me," Luke joked. "So, you clearly know French well enough. What other languages did you study?"

Lucien looked upwards, tapping his chin, recalling. "Hebrew, Italian, German, English…"

"Arabic?"

"Yes, a little," Lucien responded in the subject language.

"Latin?" Luke pressed, now in disbelief.

"Yes, fluent. In fact, now that Light mentions it, he will know that we are called by the same name, in a manner of speaking."

Luke considered this before understanding what Lucien meant. "Ah, I hadn't thought of that. Both Luke and Lucien derive from _lux_. Latin for 'light.'"

"Indeed, even Light's nickname fits this," Lucien teased. "But recently I was focused on learning old Greek, to read the classics."

"Impressive," Luke admitted. Lucien really was one of a kind. "Under different circumstances, I could have taught you. My favourite thing to read when I was younger was Plato. I loved his discourses on justice."

"Indeed, there would be a great many possibilities under different circumstances," Lucien observed, actually sounding wistful. The knight was wasted on the likes of the Church, obeying the whims of a selfish, sniveling coward like Pope Clement, whose only true concerns were collecting bribes and living a cushy life. Lucien thought back to his line of reasoning from earlier. The loss of someone like Luke, who was likely capable of all he dreamed he was, to something as barbaric as burning at the stake… when it came time to cash in, would Lucien really be able to use his bargaining chip?

… The prince had to be able to do what was necessary. But as the two men passed several more hours in discussion of ancient philosophy and mathematics, Lucien could not help but feel he had dual hearts; the heart of Prince Lawliet was not his own, it belonged to the citizens of Strasbourg. But Lucien, the man, was not playing the game Luke thought he was. His affection for the knight was utterly genuine.

Lucien wondered if there weren't two distinct identities in conflict within Luke as well. One, the godlike arbiter of death. The other, the brilliant, lonely young man, devoted to his integrity and sense of justice, to a fault.

xx

The delicious aroma of roasting meat wafted to Luke's nose and his stomach rumbled loudly in response. Even Lucien, with his love for sweets, seemed to be eyeing the cooking rabbit despite himself. He had learned much just by observing the knight, who had expertly woven a rope out of forest creeper vines, explaining the steps for the prince's benefit as he set up a snare with a bit of hard biscuit as bait. When they had returned after a couple hours of gathering firewood and taking a rest, they'd found a fat hare dangling limply in the trap.

Luke had also taught Lucien how to skin and prepare the animal, along with how to construct and start a low-smoke cooking fire. Though these skills would probably have little usefulness for a royal, Lucien had thoroughly enjoyed learning something new, and taking in the expert way that Luke taught. How he explained the basics alongside the complex science behind their success. For his part, the knight was relaxed, laughing easily and joking with the prince all afternoon, loving Lucien's company.

"I think it's ready," Luke announced, testing the resistance has he tugged on a leg. The meat was supple and unresisting. "You're going to eat some, right? Even though it's not cake?"

"I will eat some," Lucien agreed. "It seems a fitting final test after today's lessons."

The prince enjoyed how Luke laughed in response.

The two men ate heartily, their bellies finally full for the first time in days. Luke was reclining by the fire, chatting with Lucien who was crouched nearby.

"I've gotta say," Luke said stretching languidly, "you're tougher than I gave you credit for. You've kept up with all this walking, and you can handle not eating much. You never complain."

Lucien was silent, and Luke craned his neck to look at the other in the face. "But I do hope we can earn some money and have a bit of an easier time of it. An inn would be nice. Would you like that?"

Thinking of how, because of the handcuffs, they would have to share a bed, Lucien was unsure how to answer. After a delay, he gave a nod.

"You've gotten awfully quiet," Luke remarked before sitting upright. "Oh, you have some meat on your face…"

The knight watched as Lucien wiped one cheek, then the other, still missing the little piece of food clinging to his skin.

"No, still didn't get it," Luke chuckled. Finally, without really thinking, he reached out and wiped at Lucien's cheek, realizing a second too late how intimate it felt.

Then, Luke's heart threatened to burst as he felt Lucien's hand come up to catch his own, keeping it where it rested on his cheek. Paralyzed, Luke watched as Lucien hunched forward, coming closer to where Luke sat in the dancing firelight. Lucien was only a foot or two away, face to face with the knight.

"Lucien…" Luke cautioned, thoughts thrown into disarray. Lucien crept ever forward, slowly closing the distance. Luke had never been kissed or kissed anyone before, but he suddenly realized that this might be Lucien's intention.

Finally, with only another moment to spare, Luke re-animated and shoved Lucien back with force. Both men wore expressions of stunned shock.

"You tried to…" Luke couldn't finish, couldn't speak the words. Like a tidal wave, recollections of his dream with Lucien in the river crashed over his head. He spent a singular, long moment narrowly avoiding breaking. What on earth was Lucien thinking? He couldn't possibly feel that way about Luke, could he?

 _No! No, no, no!_ Tormented, Luke hid his face in his hand, fingers and thumb digging into both temples, trying to dispel the doubts that had so suddenly seized him. Then, realizing that the prince was watching his every move he stopped abruptly. This had to be another move in Lucien's game, albeit one that Luke hadn't anticipated.

Miserable, Luke glared at the other man, who looked back at him with an unreadable expression. _What do I do now?_ Luke wondered. Nothing had ever threatened a breach between his dream world and his reality like this. There was no way the prince could have guessed at this private secret, which left only one likelihood; that the prince was a sodomite.

 _It's a temptation from the Devil_ , Luke reminded himself, gritting his teeth. He just needed to remain strong. After one more conflicted second, he mastered himself, deciding.

"Up," he ordered, yanking hard on the handcuff chain and forcing Lucien ungracefully to his feet. "No rest tonight."

xx

Finally, the trees were thinning and Luke had caught glimpses of buildings. They had finally reached the next town. Although they had walked through most of the night, Luke had been forced to give in on the 'no rest' rule near dawn. It was now boiling mid-afternoon, the sun blazing and oppressive. Both men were utterly exhausted, and neither had spoken a word since the incident beside the fire.

The villagers were staring, gaping openly at the Templar chained to a haggard, hunched man. But they otherwise received little trouble.

Unfortunately though, Luke was gently declined at the village church when he asked for assistance. The priests had no money to spare, and the most Luke was afforded was some bread with cheese and a mug a stale ale. There was a time not too long ago when his station as a Templar Captain would have yielded much more reverent respect, but it seemed that even his fellow Catholic brethren were a little frigid when it came to the Knights. No matter. When Luke was Knight Commander, he would reform the Order into its full former glory and the townsfolk would have no more cause (or ability) to be so suspicious and inhospitable.

"Let's find somewhere hidden," Luke muttered to Lucien once they were back in the town streets, finally breaking their silence that had lasted almost an entire day. "Or we'll go back into the woods. If we're going to afford a horse, I'll have to sell my chainmail, but I don't want these villagers knowing I'm un-armoured."

"Is Light sure?" Lucien ventured, risking another one of the knight's mood swings. But he imagined that it was hard for a soldier to part with such an essential piece of his protection.

"Not really," Luke admitted. For the time being, he had decided to pretend like nothing had happened between them. "But we can't walk all the way to Rome. Aside from all the other dangers, it would take us two months. You want to walk for the next two months, eating scraps?"

Lucien was silent.

Luke sighed.

"Sir Luke…? Sir Luuuuuuuke!" A honeyed female voice called through the street, echoing off the buildings.

 _Who on earth…_ resisting the impulse to turn and locate whoever it was, Luke kept walking. There was not a single woman on the planet that he felt like dealing with right now on top of this mess, and if he just pretended like he was someone else or hadn't heard…

His arm met resistance as the handcuff chain went taut. Lucien had not kept walking, instead turning to face the source of the voice. Luke now had no choice.

"Way to blow our cover," Luke growled under his breath, just loud enough for Lucien to hear. Then, seeing the woman: "oh dear God."

The woman rushed towards them, dress bustling around her legs, followed by two people. She was an Italian merchant's wife, with some distant (and possibly concocted) relationship to the Pope. Her luxuriant hair was concealed under an ornate veil, the purpose of which was modesty, utterly at odds with the torrid lust that was visibly flashing in her green eyes. She was shadowed closely by a hollow-eyed, long-suffering valet who spoke not a word the entire time.

But worse, oh so very much worse, was the daughter she was trailing behind her. Luke had wrongly thought he'd never have to deal with them outside of Italy, where he had seen them last about six months ago. They made a man glad to have to be whisked away to battle, with war as his only mistress.

"Lady Bianca," Luke sighed, his exasperation misconstrued as breathy excitement by the older woman. "And Miss Miriam."

Lady Bianca's detestable daughter finally stepped out from hiding behind her mother, and shot a sugary, girlish smile at Luke that made him want to slap her.

"How many times have I told you, Lukie?" she chirped in Italian. "Just call me Missy."

She held out her hand for Luke to kiss, and as etiquette commanded, he was forced to oblige. He repeated the gesture with Miriam's mother, who tittered idiotically. It made Luke grateful that, despite him being literal royalty, there were no such pretenses with Lucien, and the two men could throw social conventions to the wind, something Luke found incredibly freeing. But these two women were so closely tied to Luke's home, he could not afford even the slightest chance of offending them.

"What brings you ladies so far out of Rome?" Luke inquired, desperately hoping the answer was _to go to Siberia and never come back_ , but was disappointed when Bianca dodged the question.

"Oh, Sir Luke," she flirted, "I should be asking _you_ all the questions, seeing as you're the one chained to this wreck of a man. What _are_ you doing?"

This was so much more trouble than Luke needed right now, but he politely summarized, sparingly.

"He is a prisoner, to be brought before the Church in Rome. We had four other men, but they were lost to bandits in the woods, so I'm afraid these irons are the only method with which to guarantee he doesn't escape."

"Oh _my_ ," Bianca gasped. "That sounds so _dangerous_. But you were always the best man for _any job_."

Luke smiled but said nothing, waiting for Bianca to fill the silence with a deserved explanation.

"Well, I suppose you're wondering what brings us so far from home," the noblewoman giggled coquettishly. Luke watched as Miriam tugged on her mother's skirts, like a needy infant.

"We're on our way back from a trip to the famous baths of France," Bianca continued, oblivious to Miriam who seemed to be trying to prevent her from telling more. Luke couldn't have cared less, one way or the other. "Unfortunately you see, Missy was involved in…. an _incident_ —"

"Mother, he doesn't need to know!" Miriam had abandoned her pretense of charming girl and was glaring death at the older woman.

"Well he does, because that's why I called him over," Bianca replied tartly, and then to Luke, "anyway, some _consequences_ arose from that, one of which is that Missy is now unable to marry a man of status. I've arranged for her to go to a nunnery as punishment—I mean, as atonement."

Luke shifted from one foot to the other, waiting for Bianca to get to the point. He had yet to see how any of this was his problem.

"And that's why I was so glad to see you, Sir Luke, because I've been looking for an escort for her ever since we left Paris, after all, I intended to be well on my way to Spain by now, but of course I can't just leave her with any _strange man_ …" She smiled wickedly. "But you, Sir Luke, are no _strange man_."

The knight suppressed the urge to scream that he would rather make a necklace out of his own intestines, until she said the magic words:

"Of course, I will _pay_ you. And it's not out of your way back to Rome," Lady Bianca gestured to the mute valet, who nodded and produced a swollen coin purse. It was clear that it held enough money to stay in the best accommodations and buy a new horse in every town from here to Rome, if they so wished. It was irresistible.

Luke grinned.

"It would be my honour to accompany your… charming daughter to the nunnery. I avow my honour and assure you, she will come to no harm," he promised. _At least no harm by anyone else's hands,_ he added mentally.

Lucien had been as good as a bump on a log for the entire exchange, and Luke laughed bitterly to himself. _You have no idea how much you'll suffer_ , Luke tried to communicate telepathically. However, they were now flush with cash, and Miriam's presence would serve as a much-needed buffer between the two men; hopefully more weird moments would be impossible if they had their hands full with the blithering blonde.

On the bright side, at least Luke didn't have to part with his precious armour anymore.

xx


	5. Damned

"My lady," Luke purred, embracing the act, "shall we discuss further details over a meal?"

Bianca giggled coyly behind her hand, a repulsive attempt at girlishness. "Oh, I really would _love_ to, but I must be making my way to Spain now that I've found a trustworthy guardian for Missy. I am already so behind schedule."

"But Lady Bianca, I still don't know where to bring Miss Miriam—"

"Missy," Miriam piped up.

"Oh, silly me," Bianca trilled. "I forgot to mention. You know the Saint Bernice nunnery in the Alps? I believe the Abbess is an old teacher of yours. Bring Missy there… the rest is… up to your _discretion_."

Suddenly, Luke realized that Lady Bianca couldn't care a whit about Miriam, that the lady viewed her daughter as an annoying obstruction. Luke had to agree, but it was still affronting that a woman could treat her daughter with such carelessness… although, by society's standards, Miriam was now admittedly worthless. Luke vaguely recalled that Lady Bianca was actually the second wife of Miriam's father; perhaps the fact that Miriam wasn't her direct offspring played a factor. Though, they were similar enough.

"The Abbess is indeed one of my tutors. A wonderful woman, Miriam will be in good hands—"

"Missy!"

Luke's gaze cut to the girl, with sufficient violence in his eyes that she instantly quieted.

"Run along now Missy, try not to give Sir Luke too much trouble." Lady Bianca instructed her valet to summon their carriage, and before departing, she held out her hand once more for Luke to kiss.

"Safe travels, my Lady," Luke kissed the proffered hand. _Safe travels on to whatever debauchery you're late for in Spain_.

Miriam came to cling at Luke's arm, careful to stay on the opposite side of the knight from Lucien, who she seemed to be pointedly ignoring. She also seemed to be ignoring her departing mother, hardly saying a word of goodbye. It certainly seemed as if there was no love lost between the two… not that it was Luke's problem. The girl was a bit of extra risk as he'd be forced to protect her on the road, but they now had enough money for the best horses and to stay in secured inns in every town.

Miriam's sour little mood seemed to evaporate rapidly, as the group had not been walking towards a public house for a whole minute before she launched into an onslaught of questions and inane observations, still gripping Luke's sleeve like a baby monkey. He tried to shake her loose but she didn't get the hint.

"Oh Lukie, will you really be taking me to the nunnery…? Can't we stop and see the beautiful scenery along the way? I always thought it would be so wonderful to have you take me around, just you and I… and we'll have to sleep in the same bed, right? After all, I would be too afraid of robbers or nasty drunks to stay in a room all by myself—"

"Miriam," Luke stemmed the flow of Miriam's pitchy Italian, which threatened to draw blood from his eardrums. He laid down a few ground rules. "First of all, do not call me 'Lukie,' either Sir or Luke or both are acceptable. I _will_ take you to the nunnery, and we will be traveling the fastest possible route there with no scenic detours. You will have private chambers in every inn we stay at, but I will ensure they are secured. Now, if you'll forgive me, I have many things to consider at the moment, for which I need silence."

If Lucien could sometimes irritate the knight, Miriam possessed a preternatural ability to crawl right under his skin. But he couldn't risk his temper flaring. If he behaved savagely with her, he wouldn't put it past her to seek revenge by compromising his reputation with the Abbess or spreading rumours that might get back to the Church. Still, it was almost more than he could manage to treat her with the barest minimum of civility.

Especially when she didn't obey his request for silence.

"Why should I call you what you want when you won't call me Missy?" she pouted, and Luke thought about how he'd never hit a woman before, but there was a first time for everything.

"Because I will like you so much better if you do," he cooed, and that seemed incentive enough for Miriam.

On Luke's left, Lucien behaved like an impassive spectre, shadowing the two others and acting as if he couldn't understand every word of Italian being spoken.

"We'll get dinner at an inn and book some rooms," Luke spoke in French to Lucien, not missing the questioning look from Miriam. "We can leave her at the inn and go purchase horses before night falls."

Lucien seemed on the cusp of protesting for some reason, but they were supposed to be acting like captor and prisoner, not friends.

"No cake tonight," Luke said with finality. Why was everyone treating this like some kind of entertaining road trip on which everyone got delightful snacks and enjoyed leisurely strolls, and called Luke by annoying nicknames? Luke's head was pounding, and he yearned to be in a very dark, very silent room, all by himself.

xx

They were seated inside the Crown and Rose public house, with Luke staring hard at Lucien. The barmaid had just left, after a long struggle to determine whether there would be food served for the prisoner or not.

"What do you mean, you don't want this food?" Luke hissed, simultaneously amused and fed up with Lucien, who seemed to only want sweets. "You were fine eating bits from the forest, and now suddenly you're digging your feet in?"

"I am simply not hungry."

Miriam was watching the exchange avidly. "What are you guys talking about?"

Luke ignored her.

"Be smart and eat something. If you starve yourself you'll just make it harder on yourself and on me." Luke's tone was harsh, but he secretly wished things were simple enough that he could share a piece of cake with his friend. Absurd, really, after what had happened… but Luke wanted it nonetheless.

No one spoke during the minutes it took for the maid to bring meals for Miriam and Luke, the latter eating hastily as was his habit, hardly savouring the rather delicious meat pie. Miriam was lifting spoonfuls of her turnip soup only to let the liquid noisily plop back into the bowl. Lucien was staring blankly at the tabletop, chewing on his thumb and sitting like a gargoyle.

Though she was finally being quiet, Luke soon grew irritated with Miriam's dallying and waved the maid over again, booking two adjacent rooms and settling their fees through her.

"Miriam, you can finish your soup upstairs in your room. I need to purchase horses before the stables are closed. Make sure you lock your door, and don't leave or let anyone enter unless you're absolutely positive it's me."

The young woman did comply… but only after throwing several tantrums and only after Luke denied all seventeen of her attempts to convince him to share a room with her. Checking Miriam was properly secured behind her locked door, Luke exhaled deeply, then turned to Lucien.

"I hope we can still find a bakery that's open at this hour."

Lucien's face lit up, twisting Luke's heart in a way that wasn't all together unpleasant. Reddening, Luke gave a hesitant smile back, and led his friend out into town. The two hurried, hoping to find the store still open but as they turned a corner, Luke felt his stomach drop a little. The building had the sign for baked goods, but the windows were darkened and the door closed. If Luke himself was disappointed, Lucien's own quiet dismay must have been immeasurable. The knight could practically feel the dismal waves radiating off his companion.

Luke turned to his companion. "I'm only doing this because you saved my life, okay?"

The prince followed eagerly as Luke approached the locked door of the bakery and gave it a few loud knocks, banging again when there was no answer. Finally, a surly looking German man flung open the door.

"What's this now?" he asked with unrestrained suspicion and irritation.

Luke quickly donned his most charming mask, trying to mitigate some of the baker's aggravation.

"My good man," Luke spoke in immaculate German, "I am deeply sorry to bother you at this hour. I was wondering if I could impose upon you for your finest cake. I will pay double—no, triple."

The knight could tell that the baker's attention had been piqued, but he was still, fairly, wondering why two chained men were asking for cake at night.

"You see," Luke continued masterfully, "I have just saved a young woman's life from this rapscallion here, and she is quite inconsolable. I thought perhaps one of your sweet cakes would ease the lady's hysteria."

The baker grunted, then relented. "Yeah, okay. It's no good having a lady in a bother like that. And my cakes are sweet enough to soothe any troubles." He patted his robust belly as evidence of all the 'soothing' cakes he had eaten.

The man turned to head back into the shop before pausing. "Triple, you say?"

Luke nodded and then man went inside.

"Strawberries, please," Lucien whispered.

"One with strawberries, good sir," Luke called into the shop. It wasn't long before the baker proudly presented a beautiful looking white cake, topped with ripe strawberries. Luke shot a surreptitious glance at the prince, whose expressions Luke was beginning to be able to read. Something about the cake was not totally perfect. The knight thought for a moment, before politely asking that the baker drizzle more honey on top.

While the obliging baker was in the back to fulfill the request, Lucien looked up at Luke and smiled.

"Thank you, Light."

xx

"It must be good," Luke grinned. Lucien had already finished half of the cake.

"It is indeed delicious. Would Light like any?"

"No, you can finish it. Just enjoy it, we probably can't do this again."

"I understand."

Lucien went back to stuffing cake into his face, and in the quiet, Luke questioned himself. Why had he done this? For the sake of winning the game? Manipulating and converting Lucien? He had hated how happiness had surged through him when the prince had smiled. And he hated this feeling he was filled with now, a fluttery nervousness, the impulse to be close to Lucien, the desire to spend more time with him… no one had ever made Luke feel this way and it scared him.

He looked at their surroundings; a peaceful, secluded riverbank, underneath the draping foliage of an old willow tree. Their own little world. Luke thought of Miriam back at the inn. They'd be traveling with her for about the next two weeks, and it was with surprising regret now that Luke thought about all the lost alone time with Lucien.

 _What am I thinking?_ Luke mentally screamed at himself. He, no—his very soul—was in danger. Lucien was his secret dreams incarnate. Miriam would be useful, hopefully preventing any more incidents like when Lucien had tried to kiss him. Though, the two men would still be forced to share a room… and a bed…

 _It's all a test_ , Luke promised himself uncertainly. He had to resist. He had to dredge up horror and revulsion to replace the affection and excitement he felt around Lucien.

Suddenly, the prince broke in on Luke's private hell.

"I really like Light."

Luke reeled, terrified at the prince's sudden admission.

"I would like to talk about what happened with Light by the campfire," Lucien continued softly, but matter-of-factly.

"Please, no," Luke found himself pleading. A moment of weakness before he regained control of himself. He cursed his loss of face.

"That is why I would like to talk about it. I want to know why Light is scared, as opposed to disgusted."

"I am disgusted," Luke countered without vehemence.

"Perhaps," Lucien allowed. "But Light's fear is what I am trying to account for. What is Light scared of?"

"Lucien, stop it."

"I really like Light," Lucien repeated.

 _There's no way_ , Luke thought. And before he could catch himself, _he really feels the same way I do?_

Shuddering, Luke realized that he had basically made what amounted to a fatal admission, even if it was only in his thoughts.

"Why are you telling me this," Luke asked in a barely controlled voice. "You know I have helped send people like you to be burned at the stake. I have killed men for…" He couldn't bring himself to say the words out loud.

"I know. This is why I am so intrigued by Light's fear. Light could have executed me for what I did yesterday. Or at least punched me again."

"What are you suggesting? And I can rectify the oversight now, if you like," Luke snarled, regaining himself. "Be very careful of what you say next, Lucien. Do not insult me again."

"I understand the conflict with Light's religion, but it was never my intention to insult Light. I am grateful to have met Light and gained my first friend. I respect Light greatly."

The knight barely caught himself before saying 'I respect you too.' Luke badly needed to clear his head and regain the upper hand. Lucien was either way better at this game than Luke had predicted, or he… he was being genuine and had sinful desires for Luke. Just the thought was enough to set Luke's heart racing. Before things got even messier, Luke rose to his feet.

"Are you finished?" He spoke down to Lucien who was munching on the last bites of the cake.

"Yes," Lucien said, getting to his feet as well. "The cake was truly delicious. I appreciate it."

"Don't mention it," Luke said, somewhat literally. "Let's just head back, we can buy horses in the morning."

The two men made their way back to the inn, Luke checking on Miriam and confirming her safety. Especially after their conversation, getting into bed together felt untenable. It was different than sleeping near each other in the woods. They had undressed down to their underclothes, making the situation feel even more awkward.

"I'll sleep on the floor," Luke muttered. "It makes no difference to me."

"That is not necessary. If Light pulls that chair close to the bed, I will use it and Light may use the bed."

"Don't be silly, Lucien. You need sleep too."

"I can sleep seated," the prince replied, then added, "though I appreciate Light's kindness."

"I'll sleep on the floor, and that's final." Luke's tone brooked no further argument and he took one of the pillows and blankets from the bed, tossing them onto the hard, wooden floor. Though he had been looking forward to the comfort of a real bed, some of his tumult eased at the thought that this small punishment could be his repentance and an affirmation of his faith.

It took hours for Luke to settle his mind, and his efforts were derailed several times when the handcuff chain clinked from where it was draped over the edge of the bed, reminding him of who he was attached to. It was impossible to tell if Lucien had already fallen asleep, but Luke steadfastly resisted looking to check.

Eventually, despite how uncomfortable it was, the knight finally caught a few hours of rest.

xx

They had been traveling for six days… six excruciating days, filled with mind-melting blabbering from Miriam, an utter lack of conversation between the two men, and more nights of wretched sleep for Luke on various inn floors. His self-inflicted punishment wasn't proving as effective as he'd hoped, and in fact he was loath to admit that despite the physical proximity, his emotional distance from the prince had conjured curious, turbulent feelings. He found himself missing Lucien.

He missed their long conversations, their exchange of ideas. Deep down, he missed seeing Lucien smile.

Luke's head was more messed up than ever, his dreams had been unrelenting, Lucien featuring in them heavily. Last night, Luke had even been awoken by his own voice, what he hoped were incoherent murmurings, but the knowledge that Lucien had to have heard him was deeply mortifying and Luke had been unable to fall asleep again. He felt dead on his horse, but his aching back was ramrod straight. After all, Lucien had to ride right behind him due to the handcuffs. Luke had insisted Lucien ride side-saddle, unable to cope with the thought of Lucien astride him, legs on either side of his body.

They were entering a small village, little more than a crossroads and an inn with a few farmhouses clustered together. Luke was sullen throughout dinner, and even Miriam soon gave up her endeavours to try and chatter with him. Lucien was spending another supper not eating, but he had done this several times over the past few days and so no one remarked on it anymore.

Luke suggested they all retire early, mostly out of the sheer exhaustion he himself was feeling. Having secured Miriam in her own room, the two men went to theirs in silence. The knight was removing his heavy chainmail when he hissed in pain, his back muscles seizing so tightly at the site of an old battle wound that he could barely breathe. Carefully, he sat on the edge of the bed, trying to wait out the worst of it.

"Is Light alright?" Lucien asked from the bed, coming to crouch behind the knight.

"Yeah," Luke winced. "It's just that my back is really sore. It will relax soon enough."

"Light should sleep in the bed tonight, I can use the chair. It will be better for Light's back."

"It's not a big deal." Luke tried in vain to reach the knotted muscles, trying to do so just made them constrict painfully again. He'd have to make do with stretching them once they settled down.

Luke nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt two hands on his back, warm enough to feel through the fabric of his undershirt. Without thinking, he whirled around, only causing the pain to reach a crippling level. He doubled over, breathless.

After a long moment, he felt the heat of Lucien's hands against his back once more.

"I am good at massages. It will help Light feel better."

Luke was paralyzed, unable to think clearly, more so due to Lucien's touch. The pain he could deal with.

Slowly, meeting no resistance, Lucien's hands worked, tentatively at first and then with more firmness. Luke was soon able to take shallow breaths and the angry muscles slowly began to unwind.

"Light should lie down. I will be able to be more effective."

Luke debated for a moment before moving to lie face-down on the bed, surprised when Lucien reached out to stop him. Wordlessly, Lucien lifted the hem of Luke's shirt, hesitating, gauging the knight's reaction. For his part, Luke had become a frozen statue, unable to make a decision on how to react one way or the other, almost pliable in Lucien's hands. Lucien tugged on the shirt, pulling it over the younger man's head, and discarding it on the floor. Then, with two outstretched, spindly fingers, he gently pushed Luke down on the bed. This almost caused the knight to panic, until it became clear that Lucien merely intended to continue the massage therapy.

Lying on his stomach on the bed, Luke wrangled with the whirlwind inside his head and his heart. His whole body clenched when he felt the prince's fingertips on his skin again, tracing the raised scar of the wound that was hurting him so.

"Please relax," Lucien recommended. It felt impossible. "This old wound seems to be troubling Light greatly. May I ask how Light received it?"

"A spear, during a war in Constantinople. My chain mail saved my life."

"That, and the poor aim of the one wielding it. Two inches to the right and it would have severed Light's spine."

"Mm," Luke intoned, non-committal. The wound was already five years old, inflicted when he had been eighteen. But it was true, he had narrowly missed death. A miracle he had taken as evidence of his divine blessing, hardly giving it a second thought once it had healed.

Lucien fell silent and began massaging in earnest once more. It felt incredibly good. Somehow Lucien was full of unusual talents, though Luke assumed this one could be attributed to the prince having an exceptional knowledge of anatomy. He kept expecting the other to stop, but even in those thin fingers, Lucien possessed strength and endurance. In fact, it was the prince that outlasted the knight.

Lucien looked down at the soundly sleeping man, absorbed in his physical beauty once more. Luke's torso was marked by several scars other than the one they had discussed, as easy to trace as the lines of the knight's lithe muscles. The physical form had never stirred anything in Lucien beyond curiosity, but Luke's body seemed special. Perhaps only because it housed his wonderful mind.

Unlike Luke, the prince had no compunctions about freely acknowledging the true nature of his feelings. He suspected that the attraction was mutual. The startled, genuine fear that the knight had demonstrated several times told Lucien that there was something deeply threatening about the bond that had formed between the two men; not threatening in the expected way of a 'man of God' confronting a sodomite… No, more in a way that Lucien felt threatened the knight's very worldview, and certainly his view of himself and everything he thought he wanted.

Though it would likely serve no ultimate purpose, Lucien could not help but want to free the knight from these imagined restraints. He wanted his friend to understand the human fallibility of the Church, the Papacy, even the Bible. All of these were man-made devices, limitations for someone like Luke who was sufficiently brilliant he should have no need to follow such crowd-control mechanisms.

As he carefully pulled the blankets over-top the slumbering knight, Lucien mused about how ill-fitting his ideas were for the times. The prince had always been alone, rejected by narrow-mindedness where his intellect soared. He had been uncaring of his solitude until he'd encountered a kindred spirit in Luke, only realizing in retrospect he had been lonely.

Ultimately, he took comfort that this era of his would come to an eventual close, making way for progress. One had only to look into history to see that it was filled with innumerable civilizations like his, now long-dead and forgotten, though each had been equally convinced of its own divine right.

The prince was not tired, and spent several hours considering all of the outcomes of his current situation, careful not to make any moves that would shake the bed and disturb Luke. The circumstances seemed to boil down to four main options. First, Lucien could proceed with his original intention and reveal Luke's 'true nature' to the Church, turning him over to be burned at the stake as a sacrifice to appease King Philip, with the Church owing him a favour. Second, he could allow Luke to turn him in, revealing Lucien's many sins and redeeming his own faltering reputation with the Church and possibly securing his much-wished-for promotion in the Knights. Third, Lucien could pretend that Luke had converted him, pledging his loyalty and his city to the Church and attaining glory for Luke.

Lastly and least likely: they could run away.

Luke stirred, fretful in his sleep. Lucien watched as the younger man's brow furrowed. The knight was evidently dreaming.

"Mmn," Luke moaned.

Rapt, Lucien leaned forward, peering into Luke's face. He wondered what the other was dreaming about. Luke's breath was beginning to heave.

"Mmnn… Lu… Lucien…"

The prince's huge eyes were taking every detail. He was almost over top of the knight, now.

Suddenly, Luke's eyes shot open, almost colliding with the prince's face he sat up so quickly. He was panting.

"Lucien!" Luke cried out, shocked to see the royal so close. "When did I… Was I sleeping?"

 _Enough of this game_ , Lucien decided that instant. Hearing Luke speak his name in his dreams had set something in motion the prince no longer cared to stop. Having leaned away to avoid being hit by Luke, he approached again.

"Lucien? What are you doing?" Luke gulped, but he didn't retreat. "Lucien, say something..."

He could feel the bed sinking as Lucien's weight shifted toward him. Luke's heartbeat, accelerated from the dream, would still not calm. Lucien was so close now.

The prince was sitting right in front of Luke now, facing him. That Luke was not moving away was all the permission Lucien needed.

He leaned forward, closing the distance, and pressed a soft but undeniable kiss to Luke's lips.

A heavy moment passed, like the moment between seeing the flash of lightning and then feeling the peals of thunder crash around you.

Lucien pulled away, if only to observe Luke's reaction. He expected fear, rage… but not what happened next.

Luke seized Lucien's face in his hands, kissing him back with desperation. Lucien felt the knight's mouth open and opened his in response. Clumsily, the inexperienced men navigated these newfound actions and sensations. Their tongues twined together. Tasting each other was indescribable.

Then, just as suddenly, Luke tore himself away. Heartbreak was evident on his face.

"Oh God," he whispered, horrified.

He lowered his hands from Lucien's face, bringing them up to hide his own in shame. Luke started shaking.

Seeing this cataclysm unfolding in his friend, Lucien regretted ever having wished for it in the first place. Now, he was worried Luke would be destroyed by this. Gently, he reached out, trying to encircle Luke in his arms. The knight swatted him away before curling into a tighter ball. Lucien gave it a minute before trying again, and this time Luke did not fight his embrace.

xx


	6. Confession

It took a long time for Luke's shaking to subside, but Lucien held him throughout. And it was a long time before the prince heard a broken little whisper fall from Luke's lips.

"I will not be damned..."

Lucien didn't know what to say, as he did not believe in Hell. But he understood that the prospect of it would be terrifying. He pulled away, to better evaluate how Luke was doing. The action seemed to bring the knight back to his senses. Luke looked up, eyes sparking with rage.

"…This is your fault, Lucien," Luke face contorted and his breath was coming in heaves.

"I know the game you're playing, and I hate you for it," Luke seethed, reaching for Lucien's shirt collar. Lucien decided against resisting.

"I will ask for permission to execute you myself. Don't think you've won anything. I will repent and be saved and then I'll kill you." These statements were intensified by Luke's tightening grip on the prince's clothing, who, despite the strangling collar, simply stared into the knight's twisted face. Speaking or resisting now would only be incendiary. Luke needed time to calm down and process his true feelings, if that was possible.

"Never touch me again," Luke hurled out, shoving Lucien away from him roughly. From his position of forced recline on the bed, the prince watched as Luke's face crumpled; the knight turning a moment too late to disguise it. Sinking his head into his hands, Luke turned his back to Lucien and sat miserably on the edge of the bed. After a while, Lucien righted himself and came to sit on the opposite side, crouching and thinking.

It was the middle of the night, but neither man slept any more. Dawn would change nothing, but nevertheless they both awaited it.

xx

"I'm so _bored!_ " Miriam whined at the table. She was picking at a meal of roast mutton and herbed potatoes. The trio had passed four more long, tiresome days. Between Miriam talking incessantly or trying not to fixate on the deafening, awkward silence with Lucien, Luke had hardly had a moment to gather his shattered thoughts. He felt utterly ragged, broken down into scattered fragments.

"Miriam, we'll be in Switzerland in a few days. I'm sure at the nunnery you will learn and do all kinds of new, entertaining things—"

Luke's weary answer was cut short. Miriam had gotten into the obnoxious habit of interrupting him, and it made him imagine throttling her every single time.

"I don't _want_ to go to the nunnery! It's going to be terrible there, I don't want to go at all. I'll never see you again if I go, right? You know, you don't have to take me. We could run away together, I know we'd be so happy, I would find a way to make you love me, Lukie—"

"Miriam!" Luke barked loudly enough to draw a glance or two from other patrons. Carefully reassembling his mask, the knight continued. "Please. Do not be ridiculous. I am duty-bound to the Church to fulfill my mission, and to your mother to bring you safely to the nunnery. I would sooner die than forsake those obligations. I hope you understand there is no more room for any discussion on the matter. Please finish your supper."

More whining. "Don't be so mean! And we don't have to get there right away. What if we went on a special date together before we reached Switzerland? If you take me on a date I won't fight or complain anymore!"

"Miriam, please. That is out of the question." Luke's head felt like it was going to split open. He had spent years in the harsh desert, in dark, bandit-ridden forests, gone days without food, sustained near-lethal wounds that took months to heal. But this mission seemed like it might actually be the one to undo him.

"No it's not! No one would know!" Miriam was pouting, thinking very incorrectly that she was being cute. "You don't think I'm smart at all, do you? What if I tell the dumb old lady at the nunnery that you tried to do… _things_ to me while I was sleeping? I bet you'd be in trouble—"

Luke rose abruptly from the table and gave Miriam the iciest, most dangerous look he had ever worn.

"I will not be blackmailed into anything, Miriam. It would be very foolish of you to try and ruin my reputation," Luke continued, now seemingly calm, simply sharing facts. But even Miriam knew better. "And you seem to forget that no matter what you choose to fabricate about me, you will still end up in the nunnery either way."

Luke's voice was so frighteningly quiet that the girl had to strain to hear it over the din of the tavern, but she was petrified that if she leaned in any closer, Luke would reach out and tear her head clean from her neck. Even she realized that she had taken things way too far, though she had only been bluffing. She would never really do anything to compromise Luke.

"I hadn't thought about that," she backtracked, hoping she could just chalk things up to a foolish moment. "Sir Luke, I really didn't mean it anyway. I would never do anything to hurt you… Please forgive me?"

Lucien and Miriam watched while Luke's face underwent yet another change. His new expression was soft, overly sympathetic, tender. And totally at odds with the glare he had just delivered moments before, a glare capable of petrifying living creatures into stone.

"I understand, Miriam. We all make mistakes. I'm sorry too, I didn't mean to be unkind. I've just been tired lately, with many worries on my mind. You understand, don't you? Maybe we can even turn in early tonight? But if you want, I can come in and check on you later."

The unexpected blaze of kindness took both of the knight's companions by surprise, although Miriam was stupid enough to believe even an iota of it was genuine.

xx

Lucien watched as the knight hacked at a helpless tree with his long sword. After securing Miriam in her chambers, Luke had muttered to Lucien that he needed a walk, and the pair had gone into the forest on the outskirts of the town. For the last hour, Luke had been doing exhausting sword drills, and as noted by Lucien, the violence in the knight's strikes had yet to subside.

Night had fallen by the time Luke finally stabbed his longsword into the ground, sitting down beside it. He was soaked in sweat and panting hard. Though he must have been exhausted, he made no immediate moves to return to the inn and get some rest.

It was after a long while, underneath a now star-filled firmament, that Luke spoke. Lucien immediately recognized it as the knight's way of offering peace (for the time being).

"I can't wait to get rid of her," he sighed. "I'm so glad that I'll never have to see her again after this. She just makes me so _angry_."

"Light's patience is formidable. He seems used to dealing with her. Light and Missy must have an extensive history."

"I wouldn't say extensive," Luke replied, thinking. "Her family is one of the most powerful in Italy, and great supporters of the Church. I met her when she was very young, she was part of the ceremony when I was inducted into the Knights. I haven't been able to get rid of her since. I could be gone for months on campaign and she would always find out when I was back and come bother me."

"Missy loves Light very much. I am surprised there is no more substance to the history than that," Lucien remarked.

Luke laughed with an obvious bitter edge. "You mean, you had actually wondered if I had taken her as a lover? No, never. I'm insulted you'd think so. I took my oaths seriously, and it's not as if a woman like her could tempt me."

Luke was referring to the Templar oaths of virginity, though it was well known that hardly a knight observed this restriction in practice.

And, too late, Luke realized the implication of what he had said. If Miriam was not a woman who could tempt him, that meant that Lucien was a man who could, considering their kiss.

Luke sighed.

"Not that you're going to tell me the truth, but I'm going to ask anyway," the knight began.

The prince had an idea of what was coming, and admitted to himself that he was as excited as he was wary. The conversation could go so many ways. But, whatever may come, Lucien had made a decision, one that he wanted to share with the knight.

"Why did you kiss me?" Then, as an afterthought, "you don't have to sit so far away. I promise I won't punch you. I just… I need to talk."

Lucien obeyed and moved closer, sitting beside Luke and drawing his knees in close.

"I will tell Light the truth. As I have said before, I do not generally speak falsely unless it serves a strategic purpose."

"Come on Lucien. I know this is all a game, a power-play to you. I know I'm a piece in that game, because I've been playing it with you. Of course you'd lie."

"Light is welcome to evaluate the veracity of my statements for himself. And, it was accurate to say Light _was_ a pawn. But I have decided he is one I cannot play."

Luke turned to face the prince. The look on his face was so unguarded, so pleading, Lucien felt his heart squeeze a little. He had the sensation that he was talking to the 'real' Luke, not the impassive, judgmental killer indoctrinated by the Church, but the true human. If souls were real, then Lucien felt as if he was being given access to Luke's, now.

"I kissed Light because I have great affection for him. Light is special and smart. Light is beautiful."

Luke looked surprised, then raked his fingers through his hair.

"No, it can't be. You're trying to corrupt me so I'll let you go or help you defy the Church."

"I do not believe in such corruption. And I would venture that Light has felt desire of the same nature, possibly for a long time, and this is why he reacts with fear and not sincere disgust. Light is rejecting his true nature."

"It's not my true nature!" Luke protested, trying to convince himself more than anything.

Lucien hazarded an educated guess. "Does Light have dreams about other men?"

Luke recoiled, then swiftly got to his feet, pulling his sword out of the ground. Gritting his teeth and seething, he swung the tip towards the unruffled prince.

"You…! You're… I…" Luke was stammering, feeling like an earthquake was unfolding within his chest. Somehow, Lucien knew of his deepest, darkest secret.

"I am the same," Lucien spoke from the ground. "I feel no shame in it."

"But we'll be damned," Luke said, resisting. His use of 'we' was as good as a confession.

"Please, Light, sit. I wish to explain something important."

Luke took a long, long moment and a deep breath before sheathing his sword and sitting again.

"Listen to me carefully. I wish to save Light's life. In several senses. Will Light promise that, regardless of how outrageous my claims seem, that he will listen and consider them seriously?"

"What are you—"

"Promise me, Light."

"Oh my God… What's even happening…?" Luke moaned, then he slumped. "I… promise. I will listen."

Lucien began divulging his precious secret.

"Light will recall that I told him before that I do not wish for him to die. This is one truth that has remained, despite many contradicting factors. My allegiance is to my city and my citizens, but ultimately, it is also to what I consider noble and wise. I believe Light will be killed if he returns to Italy."

The knight inhaled sharply, ready to protest, but froze when Lucien put an outstretched finger against his lips. Securing Luke's silence, Lucien slowly rescinded the finger and continued.

"Light is aware of the tensions between the Knights Templar and King Philip?"

Luke appeared disoriented before he thought about it, putting the first puzzle piece in its place. "Yes, I'm aware."

"Light is aware that King Philip is demanding the dissolution of the Knights Templar, on the grounds that it is a corrupted organization, and the Knights themselves are sinners, heretics and sodomites?"

"Yeah, but that's only because he owes us so much money. The Knights Templar have lent him more wealth than he can ever hope to pay back. He's a fool."

Lucien could not help but glow with pride at the brilliance of his companion. Even his better city counselors had bought into the King's rhetoric about the amoral Knights, failing to discern the King's true agenda. Suddenly, Lucien flushed with hope that Luke would need but a small push, and he would finally be free.

"This is correct, but public opinion is starting to sway, regardless."

"But when I'm Knight Commander, I'll reform the Knights. I'll remake them into a righteous army that protects the innocent. The people will believe in us once more."

"Light will never be Knight Commander," the prince said, as gently as was possible for him.

Luke was stunned, rage skittering across his face, but Lucien continued before the other could get too upset.

"He is deserving. I believe he would be capable of all that he says. But Light wields popularity and cunning that is profoundly dangerous to the Church. Light is meant to have been a sheep in the flock, but he is proving to be a wolf."

"What are you saying?"

"I expect that by telling Light this, he will finally appreciate my sincerity. I surrender any advantage, willingly. I want Light to live." Lucien had never felt the impulse to reach out to hold someone else's hands, but he wanted to do so now.

"Lucien… am I… going to be betrayed?" Luke's intellect was deciphering the riddle, but it was outstripping his heart. The knight's eyes were shining, catching the sparse starlight.

"I have been intercepting messages from the King to the Church for years, since I began anticipating that the Church would want to control Strasbourg in earnest. One message I read was about Light. It indicated that the Church would be willing to execute a popular Knight Captain for his sins, as a high-profile token of the Church's cooperation with King's professed intention to clean the ranks of the Knights Templar."

"M-my sins? Is that why you—"

"Light's Church needs no concrete evidence for such allegations. Light is expected to fail in his mission to bring me to Rome, and for such failure he will be executed. Should Light succeed against the odds, they will accuse him of a sin, likeliest in this case to be sodomy, and will torture him for a confession. And then he will be executed."

"I would never confess—"

"I have gathered intelligence on several such cases, since at the time, the dissolution of the Knights Templar was especially beneficial for me. Well-known Knights are being chosen, token sacrifices to appease the King for the time being, without fully dissolving the enforcing arm of the Church. But the Pope is weak and in his own debt and he will bend to Phillip. Light has no allies in Rome. Light should not be so naïve as to trust that, merely because he doesn't speak the words, the confession will not be created on his 'behalf.' Does Light not have associates whose crimes were suddenly revealed, apparently reinforced by confession?"

Luke's eyes were wide and scared, and Lucien expected that the knight would fight him more.

"I…" Luke started, faltering. Words failed him for a time, before he dredged up the fortitude to continue. "Yes. There was Captain De Clairemont. I knew him well, fought with him for years. He was one of the better men I've ever known. Devoted. But out of the blue he confessed to heresy and was… burned at the stake. At the time I couldn't believe he'd fooled me so profoundly…"

"Any others?" Lucien prompted. One was an anecdote. He wanted Luke to see the evidence.

"Yes. Yes, there were several men under De Clairmont who were burned with him. And one of my old military teachers was executed. All men I trusted. Their confessions were a complete surprise…"

"Light, listen to me. I believe this is Light's fate, as he has the makings of greatness that is deeply threatening to his undeserving superiors. They have raised Light up, if only so he will fall that much further. I had intended to use this to my advantage upon arriving in Rome. I was considering giving them the evidence they needed—"

Luke's face showed it all: open horror, deep hurt and a murderous wrath.

"-But," Lucien persisted, "I am telling Light this now, as I no longer have any intentions of facilitating his death. I will negotiate with the Pope on my own terms, not terms soaked in Light's blood."

Luke's fists were clamped on his dirty tunic, grip tight enough that it was clear it caused the knight pain. He was powerless to prevent the tremors that began to wrack his body, an echo of his shaking the night Lucien had kissed him.

Lucien remembered when the knight had told him to never touch him again, and though it was clear Luke was in great turmoil, the prince decided to honour this request.

 _Damn it all… it all fits_ , Luke thought. He felt close to vomiting, but the pain radiating from his clenched fists helped him ride out the nausea. It fit with his own worries that the Church would yield to King Philip, it fit with the deaths of his comrades that had blindsided him. It fit with how the Archbishop had sent him on what felt like a pointless, danger-fraught mission. And lastly, it fit because Lucien had revealed his trump card.

Luke's life lay in rubble around him. His dreams had been crushed in an instant, his life's purpose revealed to be an out-of-reach illusion.

Silence prevailed for the better part of an hour as a defeated Luke contemplated his ruin, and the prince waited patiently for Luke to arrive at his own conclusions. But it would take more than one night to process.

Finally, Lucien decided to risk speaking, hoping to gauge the progress of Luke's contemplations.

"I am sorry, Light. This is not what Light deserves."

The knight lifted his head from where it had been resting on his forearms on top of his knees. He looked at Lucien.

"I think I believe you, Lucien. Even though it's all… unbelievable."

Luke turned away, staring forlornly at the crescent moon, brilliant and uncaring through the canopy above them, like the frigid sickle of Death.

"And I don't understand it, but you must care for me," he murmured. "Or else you wouldn't be giving me the chance to live. I can see no benefit for you, you're giving up a strategic edge. And you kissed me…"

"I care for Light, deeply."

It was too dark to see, but Luke's cheeks flushed pink. So strange, he had received too many declarations of love over the years to count, and he'd just laughed at all of them. This one was utterly different.

"Lucien, I…"

"Yes, Light?"

"… I dream about you." Luke didn't know why he'd felt the need to trade confessions, and immediately regretted speaking. The pink flush in his cheeks deepened to a hot crimson, and the moment became too much for Luke to bear. He coughed gruffly and got to his feet.

"Um… let's just… let's get back. It must be so late. I hope Miriam didn't get into any trouble."

Luke avoided eye contact while waiting for the bewildered prince to rise, saying nothing till they got back to the inn.

xx

"I hope quiet is a good sign," Luke muttered once they were back in their room, preparing to sleep. The inn-keeper had been about to close up by the time they had returned they had been out so long, and not wanting to risk waking Miriam, Luke had listened for a time outside her door instead. Sensing no signs of trouble, he'd relaxed a little and was now getting ready for bed.

"Missy is the type to cause the kind of trouble that would have resulted in the inn being aflame," Lucien replied. The joke caught the knight off-guard, and it took him a beat before he gave some light laughter.

Luke had suffered a tremendous psychological blow, but to all outward appearances, he seemed to be holding together. But since he knew Luke was very able to school his face to conceal his true thoughts, Lucien decided to observe him even more carefully than usual, debating on whether anything he could do would provide any comfort to the heartbroken knight.

He was pleased to see that Luke was now getting into the bed, adjusting the blankets. He about to douse the light when he noticed the prince staring at him.

"It's okay… if I use the bed, right?" Luke shied. He had spent the past few nights sleeping on the floor again.

Lucien came to sit by the headboard. "Of course. I hope Light rests well."

The prince was relieved that Luke had relented on his stubborn, unnecessary self-inflicted punishment. He had been too proud to admit that he was just aggravating his old injury and losing sleep. It also meant that, despite what they had discussed, Luke wasn't avoiding nearness to the prince anymore.

As was their way, they spent a long time in quiet, Lucien waiting for Luke's breaths to steady into the deep rhythm of sleep. They did not, and with the knight's back facing toward him, Lucien had no way of confirming if the other was still awake. He began to drift off himself when he heard a small but distinct sound. A sniffle. It was followed by the sound of Luke bringing his hand to his face.

Lucien was deeply conflicted. Would Luke be angry to be 'caught'? He didn't like to be vulnerable. But Lucien also didn't want Luke to feel so alone. Deliberating for a time, he decided on action, before his opportunity passed.

"Light," Lucien whispered.

He could feel the instantaneous tension in the other's body. That was all he would do for now, the rest was up to Luke. If the knight wanted to save face by pretending to be asleep, Lucien would allow him that dignity.

A minute passed. Perhaps surprising the both of them, Luke turned around to face Lucien.

"What is it," he whispered back. His voice was congested.

Another new sensation for the prince. Never had he felt another's pain so acutely in his own heart.

"Why don't you lie down and get some proper rest," Luke continued. He was putting on a brave face.

Lucien considered rebutting, but just as quickly reconsidered and complied, crawling underneath the blankets and laying on his side to face Luke. Though the room was very dark, they had not drawn the curtains and there was enough moonlight spilling in that they could see each other faintly. They were both supposed to be sleeping, but it was like there was an electric current sparking between the two men, both holding their breath, waiting.

Tentatively, Lucien reached out, white index and middle finger extended. He paused, an inch away from touching Luke's cheek, waiting for the knight to rebuff or question him. Luke only continued to stare at him, still waiting. Lucien closed the inch, softly touching the unblemished skin of the knight's face. It was still damp.

Luke understood the subtext of the gesture, but instead of becoming combative, he opened himself up wide, laying bare his vulnerabilities and weaknesses that weren't really weaknesses at all.

"I wish…" Luke murmured thickly, "…I wish I'd died. In battle, in the crusades… even in those ruins with those bandits. This is so much worse. Though, I guess in a way, I have died. Everything I knew is dead."

The prince understood, totally. He gave a little nod, withdrawing his fingers from Luke's face. Suddenly, he felt his hand caught in the warmth of Luke's. His heart missed a beat, then began a thrumming race that vibrated through Lucien's whole body.

"Lucien…" Hearing his name on Luke's tongue, now, was indescribable. Heat was radiating from the palm of Luke's rough hand that was still gripping the prince's. "Maybe… you're all that's left."

In a decisive moment, Luke pulled on Lucien's hand, bringing the royal close. A hesitant pause, and then Lucien felt Luke's lips on his.

Ready, Lucien reciprocated immediately, trying to inject his body language with tenderness and encouragement, though he didn't really have the first idea about body language to begin with. He was worried Luke would feel regret once more and end the kiss, but if anything, it was clear that the knight's ardour was finally being revealed.

He felt Luke's tongue flicker against his lips, and he willingly opened his mouth to admit the knight. Their kisses were no less clumsy than they had been before, but Luke seemed set on exploring and experimenting this time. Lucien's body was soon enfolded in Luke's arms, the knight's strength pressing the royal tightly to him, the crush almost breathless. Lucien shivered with pleasure as he felt Luke's calloused fingers reach underneath his thin cotton shirt, where they slid upward and found the prince's pronounced spine. Luke withdrew suddenly, but his hand kept traveling, taking in the impressions of Lucien's protruding ribs and shoulder blades. Unaccountably, shame washed over the prince, aware and caring for the first time that his body was ghastly, concerned that Luke was repulsed.

"Lucien," Luke's sweet breath warmed Lucien's swollen lips. They were still so close. "You don't eat enough. You're going to make yourself sick."

"I apologize," the royal began, but his apology petered out.

"What are you apologizing for? Just eat more."

"My body is…" Lucien was never at a loss for words. But he was too acutely self-conscious about his skeletal form, compared to the perfection and strength of Luke's lithe body. What a troublesome, useless feeling, but one hard to shake, nonetheless.

"Oh. I wasn't… I didn't mean to embarrass you," Luke explained with surprising gentleness. "I'm just worried. It's going to get colder as we go through the mountain passes. I…"

The knight struggled, then surrendered completely.

"Lucien… I like your body. It's very… you." As if to prove his point, Luke kissed Lucien once more. "I just don't like that you can't seem to take care of yourself."

Lucien could hear the smile in Luke's voice.

And then the prince experienced his final new sensation of the night, though there would be many more to come in the next month. He felt overcome, astonished by the need and heat running through his body. He had never given consideration to the carnal; his body needed only to function and house his brain for it to fulfill its purpose. But now, he was overwhelmed by this new unity between flesh and mind, by the pure emotion of it. Though he wasn't sure he'd be able to sleep laying down, he nestled into the larger man's chest, heart pulsing happily when he felt Luke adjust his embrace to hold Lucien against him. The handcuffs clinked softly as the chain settled on the bed behind the prince.

Holding each other, the two were easy to relax as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It wasn't long before they drifted into the oblivion of sleep.

xx


	7. Miriam!

During the night, the two men had drifted apart, though it was still the most restful sleep either of them could remember having in a long time. Uncharacteristically, Lucien woke late.

Luke had woken with the birds, but was still in bed, laying on his back and staring at the ceiling. The time of day could still be called dawn, and Luke was in no special rush to have to wake Miriam. He had instead used the rare, precious quiet to do some thinking.

He was nothing.

It felt like, in one fell swoop he'd lost everything, but realistically, he wondered how long the conspiracies against him had been seeding. The idea that the organization that had raised him would betray him was not especially surprising. He had seen too many instances of greedy, self-interested men gaining power and influence they shouldn't have had, and even the Pope was not a man Luke had any real respect for. He had never been blindly loyal to the Church, attempting to make excuses for its indulgences and foibles. He had seen too much of the inner workings to pretend at naivete. The Church had been a means to an end, the way to achieve the only thing he truly believed in. A righteous world.

In fact, Luke suspected that it was because he couldn't be bought, refusing to break the rules, that he had become so troublesome to the Church. Maybe they even recognized that with someone like Luke as Knight Commander they would never get the obedient puppet they really wanted. His long-held dream melted away like a fragile first snow in the sun.

And not least of his issues was that, by his own criteria, he no longer fit in a righteous world anyway. He had put people to death for doing the same things he had done, and wanted to do, with Lucien. The knight wasn't sure how he would ever face that. Either he became a hypocrite fugitive, or he rejected Lucien. And Lucien was one of the only people who had ever earned his rare respect, and now might be one of the very few… perhaps the only person who cared about Luke in any genuine way at all.

…But he wasn't sure he could take the leap, either way.

He may never be a Knight Commander, but he could still repent. At least he wouldn't be damned. He didn't need to be cared about.

Luke cast a glance to the slumbering prince, who was still tucked in tightly. Incredibly, it was this person who offered irresistible temptation. Luke had never felt the giddy affection, the longing to be near someone, that he felt around Lucien. He had thought Lucien a great fool when he'd called Luke his first friend, but now the knight wondered if that wasn't true for him as well. He'd certainly never felt this kind of closeness with any other human. And… the physical sensations, to someone who had never experienced them before, were euphoric.

Drawing his hand across his eyes, Luke spent a moment withdrawn deeply inside himself. He felt his own heartbeat pulsing dully in his chest. He listened as it quickened, contracted with pain, as the knight let the burgeoning feeling of self-loathing wash over him.

"Is Light okay?" Lucien's voice was quiet and lower than usual with sleep.

Luke quickly dropped his hand and turned to his companion. He had either gotten bad at keeping his guard up, or Lucien was beginning to be able to see right through him.

The prince felt the darkness radiating from the sad knight, and reached out instinctively to touch his face. Luke caught his hand, gently steering it away.

"Lucien… I need time."

Though it would been easier and more pleasurable if things could pick up where they had left off the night before, Lucien understood. He nodded, Luke regarding him for a moment longer, before making moves to get out of bed. Then, in a way that obviously demarcated a change in topic, he stretched, groaning.

"I really can't deal with Miriam right now," Luke said as he raised his arms above his head. "And I didn't come to see her last night like I said I would. I hope she didn't get up to anything…"

Moving to hold his chin in his hand, Luke continued mock-pensively. "You know, we could just leave her here…"

His silly joke was rewarded with a mischievous glitter in Lucien's eyes that was an obvious as a smile.

In the hallway, Luke breathed deeply, trying not to think of the suffering the coming day would likely bring. With a fantastic lack of enthusiasm, Luke finally summoned the will to knock a few times against Miriam's door. Without an immediate answer, worry flickered and Luke put his ear to the door. He couldn't hear anything concerning... He knocked again.

To his relief or dismay (he couldn't tell which), Luke heard shuffling footsteps emanating from within the bedroom. Finally, a very sleepy, very under-dressed Miriam opened the door a sliver. Luke automatically averted his eyes.

"Miriam I've told you to check if it's me before answering the door. I see you… have not dressed yet… I'm sorry for disturbing you. We'll be downstairs to meet you after you get ready."

The girl blinked confusedly a few times and gave a gaping yawn before answering. "Are we leaving already? I barely got any sleep at all… I was waiting for you to come check on me. You promised!"

"Of course I promised. When I came to your door to check on you, you were already asleep." Luke's silver tongue lied easily.

Miriam started to protest how he could possibly know without knocking, Luke interrupting with a hurried explanation about knight super-senses and honed instincts and whatnot, before turning to head downstairs with Lucien.

"Luke—" Miriam pouted, not yet done.

The knight faced her briefly, presenting the girl with a smile that would have charmed an ice sculpture, and the girl's obedience was secured.

xx

"Porridge?" Miriam whined once breakfast had arrived. "I'm so tired of peasant food. Is there any butter?"

"The butter will be out shortly, I thought you might want some," Luke simpered. Perhaps if he put the effort in now, she would be easier to control throughout the day.

"You did?" She giggled before resuming her pouting. "Hmph. This food better not ruin my complexion…"

The knight didn't miss a beat. "You need not worry about that, Miriam. If anything, you are becoming more beautiful by the day."

An ecstatic Miriam gasped and then threw her arms around Luke, hard enough to make him grunt. He extricated himself gingerly.

"Finish your breakfast now."

She eagerly stuffed her face, finishing in record time.

Breakfast finally eaten and fees settled, they were soon on their way again. In the hours that followed, Lucien was torn between his enthusiasm to learn more about the knight, and his growing irritation at being forced to eavesdrop on the chatter with which Luke was coddling Miriam. While the girl was dumb enough to buy it, the prince was trying to decode why Luke was behaving so out of character, indulging each of Miriam's whims.

"That dress is lovely," Luke said, accompanied with that smile again.

"Oh! This old thing?" Miriam made a show of looking herself over, as if she was anything less than exuberant. "Well, I guess it's alright. It was a present from my father before Mother and I left for France. So, you like it?"

"It's lovely," Luke repeated. "I'm sure you left many admirers behind in Italy. As I remember, you had quite the following at that last ball you and I both attended."

"And _I_ remember that you refused to dance with me! I must have asked you a hundred times. You said it was 'improper.' It was just a silly old dance, there were lots of other Knights dancing." Interestingly, Miriam's smile held a rare cerebral edge, indicating she was being thoughtful (for once).

The horse Lucien was sharing with Luke began swatting flies with its tail, the long strands of hair catching the skin of the prince's hand, stinging. He focused on the mild pain, looking anywhere but Luke's melting smiles for Miriam, his interest in listening in having dimmed significantly.

"I suppose that's true," Luke conceded. "Captain Giordano and Lieutenant Revello were certainly enjoying themselves by the wine tables that night. Do you recall?"

"I do," the woman replied warmly, taking obvious pleasure in the fact that Luke was reminiscing with her.

Lucien was surprised to deduce the emotion he was feeling now could only be called jealousy. Perhaps Miriam meant little to the knight, but she had seen him grow up, knew these little anecdotes about him. They had years of history, Lucien and Luke had a few weeks.

Miriam's voice was toned with admiration as she continued. "But you were always different, Luke. You worried that since you were so young, everyone would judge you more harshly. So, you were always careful to stand off… I'm right, aren't I?"

Luke raised an eyebrow, agreeing. She was correct.

"Oh!" She suddenly shrieked, startling her horse. Thoughtful time was obviously over. "Do you remember your induction ceremony?"

"Heh. How could I forget?" Luke's voice was vibrant with sincere nostalgia. It must still be a fond memory.

"That was the first time we ever met. I was so happy when they picked me because of Father's contributions. It was a wonderful day."

"It was. It was the best day of my life," Luke added. Miriam clearly thought it was because that's when their acquaintance had formed, but Lucien knew that Luke was recalling the pride he had felt at being the protégé of the Knights. Lucien pondered. Would Luke really be able to give it all up?

It was deepening into late afternoon, and Lucien had long ago despaired of having any quiet, perhaps even until Miriam was finally deposited at the nunnery. Striving to think on things other than the smiles and purported affection Luke was showering on Miriam all of a sudden, the prince occupied himself with fantasies about all the sweets he could be indulging in; how they would taste or break apart in his mouth. Crunchy sweets, syrupy sweets. Cookies, strawberries, whipped cream. But his attention was soon drawn unavoidably when it became clear he was being discussed.

"But he's so creepy!" Miriam whined. "I don't know how you can stand it to sleep in the same room every night."

"Well, duty is duty," Luke explained smoothly. "And I would never do anything to compromise my mission of bringing him back to Rome. He has to stay with me at all times. His escape would be a disaster."

For some reason, today when Luke spoke about Lucien like he wasn't there, it was expressly unpleasant. The knight had said he needed 'time' that morning, but the person who had taken his place seemed too much like the old Luke. Luke was certainly carrying this charade out to the last detail, wasn't he? The knight's ready array of facades suddenly felt very threatening to the prince, and he yearned to rip them apart to find the truth. After all, their time together was running out.

Shockingly, the feeling of Miriam's eyes on him drew the prince out his considerations. He met her gaze and was impressed when she didn't immediately turn away. Both evaluated the other; Miriam's expression the portrait of disdain and Lucien impassive as ever.

xx

Luke had finally given into Miriam's pleas to take a break, turning in at the next public house they found. The trio was seated at a table; two eating, one prolonging his fast. Lucien was irritated that Luke seemed too occupied with Miriam to even remark on his not eating this time. Especially after the tenderness he'd shown the night before.

"If we make good time, we might reach the convent by the weekend," Luke explained to the girl, who had asked rather politely how much longer they had together. Miriam had been unusually pliant the past few hours, listening well and even managing to let a moment of silence endure here and there. "The pass we'll be going through is mostly easy and even ground. The real mountains are further East. Its elevation is high, but it will go well as long as we don't encounter any bad weather."

"Is it safe to ride over the mountains in the rain?" Miriam asked. "What if it storms?"

"It's safe," Luke assured her. "It's just that the horses will have a hard time if it gets muddy. The mountains will sluice all the rainwater onto the path."

"Isn't there another, even easier way that we could take? To avoid the mountains altogether?" She obviously didn't want to reach the nunnery before the weekend.

"Well, there are trades routes," Luke started, and Lucien suddenly wondered what he'd be forced to endure if the knight actually agreed to take one of these out-of-the-way routes. "But it would take us a week longer and we don't have the time. Don't worry though, I have taken this pass many times. I wouldn't do anything that would put us in any jeopardy."

The two continued their banter with Lucien seemingly utterly forgotten, until finally it was time to retire to their separate rooms.

xx

"I thought I was going to tear my hair out," Luke moaned, flopping down on the bed. "What do I care about her dress? And trying to get me to delay arriving at the nunnery… I'd rather have to eat rocks than spend any more time with that girl."

Luke heaved a deep, but relieved sigh, savouring the hours ahead that would be notably Miriam-free. A heavy silence pervaded afterward, until Luke broke it by asking when Lucien wanted to go to sleep.

The prince did not answer, instead nibbling his thumb.

"Lucien?" The knight pressed, lifting up enough to observe Lucien's sullen facial expression.

"Are you… ignoring me?" Luke didn't bother to hide his confusion.

"No," Lucien answered, offering no real explanation.

Luke rose from the bed and came over to where the prince was sitting, tenderly pulling Lucien's thumb from his mouth and looking straight into his eyes. The knight seemed on the cusp of speaking, even opening his mouth to do so. But the impulse passed and Luke turned away once more, suggesting they get some rest.

The chain was long enough that Lucien didn't have to move from where he was sitting. Luke had the bed to himself that night.

xx

The pounding of heavy raindrops was what Luke awoke to, irritation blooming in his chest. In the dim light he saw Lucien sitting in the same chair as the night before.

"Poor fortune," Lucien spoke, "that it should rain after Missy mentioning it yesterday."

The knight groaned and buried his head beneath the pillow. A rumble of thunder to the South made him want to scream in frustration. Defeated, he lifted his head again and peered at his companion.

"What time is it?"

"It is still before dawn," Lucien answered.

Luke clucked his tongue in frustration. "We have no chance of beating the mud in the pass now, at any rate. With weather this bad we might even have to wait an extra day. I can't believe this…"

Silence.

"Hey," Luke tried again. "How long have you been awake?"

"I have not slept," Lucien responded.

"Then why don't we just spend the day in the room. I can let Miriam sleep in, too."

Silence, again.

Though Luke felt cranky at being ignored, he calmed himself and got out of bed, passing Lucien to go to the window, surveying the weather for himself. The outlook was bleak.

"Summer rains like this are much too heavy to travel in. There's nothing for it." Luke drew the curtains and returned to the warm spot in the bed.

Several minutes passed, both men listening to the sounds of the storm and lost in thought. Then, Luke turned once more to the prince, grabbing the handcuff chain and rattling it so that it gave off a series of soft clinks.

"Come lie down, Lucien" the knight suggested. "I don't know why you seem like you're mad at me. If I've done something, I'm sorry."

After looking like he had given a long moment over to considering it, Lucien animated, rising from the chair and climbing into the bed. Luke pulled the comforter up to the Prince's ears, cocooning them both in the blankets. "Sleep. We can stay in till breakfast."

xx

Both men were startled awake by pounding on their door. Miriam's voice followed.

"Luke, are you still asleep in there? It's after nine!"

"I'm awake," Luke called back, rising from the bed. He had to stifle a laugh; Lucien automatically followed due to the handcuffs, but the prince was blinking blearily and looking more disheveled than ever. Straightening his face, the knight opened the door. He was met with an even more unpleasant surprise than the rain.

"I thought you might be downstairs, since it's later than we usually start," the girl chirped, "but I didn't find you."

Luke ignored her and peered suspiciously at the man standing behind her.

"And this is…?" He prompted, his irritation quickly graduating to wrath.

"Oh, yes!" Miriam bubbled. "I couldn't remember which room you were in, and I was so hungry so I went down for breakfast. I was trying to ask the inn-keeper for food, but he doesn't understand Italian. Signore Cavaradossi overheard me—"

"And _Signore Cavaradossi_ is?" Luke was addressing the man directly this time, over Miriam's head.

"Excuse my manners!" The stranger hastily extended an arm for a handshake, jostling Miriam beside him. Luke's eyes flickered to the offered hand before returning to the man's face, the handshake unmet.

The man coughed awkwardly and used the arm to scratch the back of his head, as if that's what he'd been meaning to do all along. The handcuff chain gave a pronounced clink, and Luke gave a moment of attention to the analysis of the prince's facial expression. The royal seemed to have surmised, like Luke, that it would be best to get rid of this man as soon as possible.

Cavaradossi was visibly unnerved by being evaluated so closely, looking especially discomfited by Lucien's gaze. He struggled to continue his botched introduction.

"I er… overheard Missy… um… trying to talk to the innkeeper, and well, um… I'm a merchant and my regular route is from Frankfurt to Sicily so I speak Italian and German, and um, well, I couldn't help myself but come to the aid of such a beautiful girl. Haha!"

The man laughed awkwardly and Miriam faked a demure blush, catching the merchant's attention, who then blushed himself. Luke cleared his throat loudly.

"Oh, but please call me Martin." Again the man reached for a handshake before remembering the prior rejection.

"Well, _Martin_ ," Luke said frigidly. "I assume you have much urgent, _private_ business to attend to. I thank you for helping the lady, and I bid you a good day."

"Oh!" The stranger fidgeted. "Missy told me about how she's going to visit a relative at a nunnery just over in Switzerland, and it's on my way so I thought—"

"So sorry, I just remembered something I have to tell _Missy_ , afraid it can't wait a single moment longer," Luke smiled as he gruffly pulled the bewildered woman into the room.

"Goodbye!" he called out, slamming the door in Cavaradossi's stunned face.

The knight reeled on Miriam, attempting valiantly to keep his temper level.

"You can't just talk to strangers like that! It's improper for a girl your age. And, he could have abducted you and I would have never been able to find you. What were you thinking?"

"That's so unfair! I only wanted some breakfast! I didn't want to be mean to him, he was so nice!"

"I am only thinking of your safety," Luke said, reaching out to clasp Miriam's hand (a gesture that would have been more convincing had his teeth not been so clenched). "Look, I'm sorry I kept you waiting. Let me get dressed and I'll come down and have some breakfast with you."

Luke then looked at Lucien, asking him in French if he was finally hungry enough to eat.

"Not unless they have strawberries," the prince muttered. Lucien's unusual sass made the knight smile a little despite himself, something that did not escape Miriam's captive attention.

The rest of the morning passed relatively routinely, with the exception of the inn-keeper rudely asking why Lucien didn't just eat the honey directly from the pot if he was going to pour so much of it into his warm milk. Luke had persuaded the other to at least take a bit of honey milk for the nourishment, and now Lucien was being yelled at by an ornery tavern owner.

Despite this, Luke's mood was perking up. They seemed to have lost the dimwit merchant, and the storm was beginning to show signs of clearing. Using his knowledge of the area, the knight quickly made plans. They could reach the last town before the mountains by dusk if they left immediately. Though it was undesirable to get caught in the forest after sunset, he calculated that the benefit outweighed the potential risk.

xx

The three had hardly reached the town outskirts, the knight savouring a deep breath of the rain-cleansed air, when they were stopped by shouts. Luke's first instinct was trouble, and turning, he saw that he was right. Martin was trotting along on a horse that might as well have been a pony, with a goofy, clueless smile on his face. Blanching, Luke spurred his horse and reaching to smack the rear of Miriam's mount, trying to reach a gallop towards the approaching forest.

 _Please leave us alone_ , the knight prayed, at the same time he noticed Miriam's horse was already falling behind. Utterly exasperated, Luke yanked on his horse's bridle, turning it to go back to where Miriam was stalling. Oblivious, the merchant kept riding toward them, waving blithely. Luke reached into his boot and withdrew his dagger… from here it would be an easy throw and a clean kill…

"Haha! Fancy meeting you guys on the road," Martin grinned. "'The more the merrier,' right?"

"No," Luke said immediately, casually making sure his blade caught the watery sunlight. "I told you, we're traveling alone. Respect my request or I will treat you as a threat."

"Whoa now! I mean no harm!" Martin relented, his hands lifted in a gesture of surrender. "The road just gets so lonely sometimes, you know?"

Martin looked like he might be even younger than the knight himself. Luke's decent mood had evaporated and his temper was reaching a dangerous pitch. He was about to give the merchant his last warning when Miriam interjected.

"Sir Luke, please let him come? He's a good person. He's just tired of being on the road alone."

"He's also very interested in you," the knight pointed out. "A beautiful woman like you has to be wary of any man who is so eager to get close to her."

"I love it when you protect me," Miriam sighed mistily. Luke considered throwing the dagger at her instead. "But please, Luke? It'll just be for a bit. I know I'll be safe with you around."

Miriam was beginning to get a whiny, pleading edge to her voice, and the knight began to worry that if she didn't get her way, she might resort to threatening blackmail again. Besides, realistically he couldn't justify murdering a man who had every right to be on that road, no matter how much he might want to.

"…If he keeps riding this direction, I suppose I can't stop him," Luke allowed.

Martin overheard this and proceeded to stutter and fumble with copious thanks and compliments until the knight commanded that he kindly shut up.

xx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confirming that Martin is Matsuda, in case the bumbling didn't make it clear enough lol


	8. Revealed

Though the rains had mostly dissipated to a light drizzle, they made even poorer time than Luke had hoped. Frequent stops were required to pry cakes of mud from their horses' hooves, and the animals had had several dangerous slips in the muck, requiring a painfully slow pace. In a savage mood, Luke watched as Martin chatted distractedly with Miriam while attempting to tend to her horse.

"Watch what you're doing," Luke growled. "If you pierce the flesh, not only will you ruin her horse, you'll probably get kicked unconscious. Not that the last part would be my concern."

"Oh, uh, right…" Martin turned, trying to hide his humiliated blush from the girl. Having already finished caring for his and Lucien's horse, Luke scrutinized Martin before speaking again.

"Have you ever even done this before? It takes one motion, but you use twenty." Luke strode over, yanking the grooming tool from the merchant's hands. It took him less than a minute to clear all four hooves.

"Light is so cool," Lucien spoke in French. The knight suppressed a smirk.

"What did he say?" Martin asked, unable to hide how unsettled he was. It was the first time Lucien had spoken in front of their new travelling companion.

"He said you're an imbecile," Luke replied snidely, looking not at Martin but at the prince, his eyes dancing.

"Well tell him it's only because I usually _pay_ people to do this sort of thing for me!"

Ha! As if that was something to be proud of. Wealth wouldn't help you if you were stuck in the woods alone with a disabled mount. Martin had far too much bravado for someone who couldn't take care of himself.

"There is no excuse for inexperience in a traveler such as yourself," Luke said as he re-mounted, helping Lucien up behind him. "It's a miracle you haven't been robbed and murdered already."

Cavaradossi reddened into a mortified silence. Satisfied he had humiliated the man enough, Luke decided to leave him alone for the time being.

After another half an hour on the muddy path, Luke finally realized what had been niggling at him. Miriam was being unusually silent. He shot a look at the girl, whose gaze was downcast, her shoulders slumped. Luke chalked it up to her imminent arrival at the nunnery.

"So, how do you two know each other?" Martin broached, his wounded ego having healed in record time, and apparently the only person not content to travel in silence that day, and back to acting as if Lucien didn't exist.

"Italy," Luke answered tersely, making it clear Martin would get no further details from him. The merchant turned to Miriam for more context.

"I was at the ceremony when he was inducted into the Knighthood," Miriam added with a far-off look in her eyes. "Sir Luke is the youngest man to ever become a Captain in the Knights Templar, Signore."

"Wow, sounds like a big deal," Martin smiled, though he seemed displeased to be against such a formidable rival. "What happened after that?"

Luke rolled his eyes. Cavaradossi was being awfully transparent about trying to find out whether there was something more between the knight and the young woman.

"Hm? Oh, nothing I guess," Miriam admitted. "Luke attended a lot of important city events and talked with my father a lot, but he was also away for long stretches in battle. Father got so mad, he was trying to arrange marriages for me, but I only had one man in mind…"

Martin and Miriam had fallen behind a couple yards, close enough to still be within easy earshot, but luckily unable to see the strange expression Luke was wearing.

Laughing with painful awkwardness, Martin continued to fumble. "You're talking about Sir Luke, I guess? Don't Knights have to leave service in order to be able to get married?"

"Yes," Miriam sighed. "I told Father I was going to wait."

"But Sir Luke's so… cranky," Martin was attempting and failing to whisper so only Miriam could hear. Or maybe… he was trying to get punched?

"You're wrong," the girl replied firmly, surprising everyone. Did she really not realize that Luke could overhear everything? "You've never heard him speak. I mean, really speak. The day he became a Captain, he gave a speech. There's no man alive with a stronger sense of justice. He said 'I will punish all the sinners, and make this rotten world into a land of the righteous.' Other men are just interested in my family's money, or they would just tell me over and over how beautiful I was. Sir Luke doesn't care about any of that stuff."

"I don't care about that stuff either Missy," Martin declared, but hilariously, Miriam ignored him.

"So, how did you two meet again?" the merchant pressed. "I mean on the road. Pretty lucky to meet each other like that."

Miriam sighed once more. "Yes, maybe it was fate…"

"Lucky too that you were going the same way," Martin persisted, oblivious to the social cues that indicated he was being rudely nosy. "Say, Missy, why are you visiting the nunnery? I can take you all the way back to Rome, if you like."

With his back to her, Luke could not see Miriam go white. He considered admonishing Martin for prying, but he also wanted to see how she would answer.

"Oh… Mother and I were in France for a while, but she wanted to go on to Spain but um," she was scrambling to think of a believable lie. "I'm… tired from being on the road so long… and I thought I could take a rest at the nunnery…and visit my relative…"

"After you rest, how are you going to get back to Rome? Is Sir Luke going to wait for you at the nunnery? He doesn't have to, like I said I can take you back to Rome—"

"Time to take care of the horses again," Luke announced, dismounting. If the truth got out, Miriam would be humiliated, and though he was unsure why, Luke had decided to spare her from that.

This time, he patiently instructed the merchant in a step by step process how to clean the horse's hooves, hoping the lesson would distract the other from prying into private matters. However, they weren't back on their horses for five minutes when Martin was blabbering again, ready to resume his indecorous line of questioning.

"You two have been awfully talkative this afternoon," Luke cut in. He turned to give Miriam and Martin a pointed look each, communicating that he had overheard everything. Martin shriveled in embarrassment, but Luke was surprised to see the expression Miriam was wearing: a defiant one that made him wonder if she had meant for him to hear every word.

It made no difference to him, and Luke turned his attention back to their surroundings. They were deep in the forest already and it was late afternoon. They were a few more miles from town, and there was no other traffic on the trail. It was in places like these that bandits liked to camp out.

"Miriam, come and ride up beside me," Luke ordered. He would need her close if he was to protect her should anything go awry. Martin could fend for himself at the back, Luke couldn't care less what happened to him. But he was worried about Lucien, who he couldn't keep eyes on like he would have preferred.

"Can you face the back?" Luke spoke in soft French to the prince. "I don't want anyone to surprise us from the rear. I'm sorry, I know it's uncomfortable."

Lucien obliged and endured the awkward configuration that must have rough riding, keeping a look-out at the road behind them.

"What did you say to him?" Martin asked squeakily; it was beginning to dawn on him that the knight was exercising vigilance against possible danger. If the merchant was this nervous at the mere prospect of a fight, Luke knew he would be utterly useless in a real one.

"I told him not to scare you too much," Luke called back breezily. Martin shot an uneasy look at Lucien, who, bless his heart, was monitoring the merchant with one of the most ghoulish faces in his repertoire.

xx

The group continued on the path for a couple more hours, darkness imminent and Luke unable to relax until he saw the terrain begin to even out and the trees getting thinner. It wasn't long before they were passing through farmer's fields, a sign that town was not far.

"We should reach the village in about half an hour," Luke told the group. Then, adding in French for Lucien's ears only, "you can face forward now. Does your back hurt?"

"I am fine," the prince deflected.

"That's great because I am _starving!_ " Martin declared, and Miriam chimed in that she was hungry as well. Luke had not permitted any stops for the past few hours, it would have put them in too vulnerable a position to be ambushed. They had not properly eaten since that morning.

Thankfully, they reached the town without incident, though as they rode through the streets, Luke was strongly reminded of the last time he had been here, with the Archbishop on their way to Strasbourg. It felt like years had passed, and there was a queer sort of sinking feeling that sucked at Luke's heart upon such recollections.

The inn they stayed at was a good one. They sat down to a feast of roast venison, stewed parsnips and potatoes, with generous tankards of crisp ale. There was even something for Lucien, who agreed to eat from a loaf of light bread with an assortment of fruit jams and preserves.

Martin was chattering away about what an adventure they had been through, before invariably returning to the subject of the nunnery. Lucien crunched his toast loudly.

"Missy, are you sure you don't want me to stay and wait for you while you visit your relative? After all, we're tried and true travel companions now!"

"Given the fact that you have no ties with her family whatsoever," Luke cut in, fed up with Martin's cluelessness, "it would be absolutely impermissible. Also, this _is_ a nunnery we're talking about, I doubt the Abbess would encourage a strange man hanging about for an indeterminate period of time."

"Oh, right," Martin ceded. "I hadn't thought about that."

Miriam aimed a grateful smile at Luke, but the knight pretended to be absorbed in eating.

"Um," Martin started dubiously, pointing a finger at the prince. "What is he doing?"

Lucien was wiping globules of jam off his plate, licking the sticky substance off his fingers. Luke laughed. Miriam and Martin looked horrified.

"It's a… strange French custom," Luke crafted, laughing again. "Never leave your plate dirty."

Lucien acted like he wasn't being discussed as if he was some sort of curious specimen, and continued sucking on his fingers with unembarrassed slurps.

"Let's head to our rooms, shall we?" Luke suggested before Martin decided to critique the prince further. While Lucien seemed regretful to part with a pot of jelly that still had a spoonful left inside, they all headed upstairs. Cavaradossi was at the very end of the hall, with Miriam in a middle room adjacent to Luke's and Lucien's.

In the privacy behind their locked door, Luke started laughing again.

"I thought royalty were supposed to have impeccable manners, your Highness."

Lucien looked at Luke, but said nothing.

"It looked like the jam was tasty. I must admit I'm glad you got something to eat."

Again, the prince did not answer.

"Lucien." Luke approached the other man where he was standing hunched by the door. "You're upset with me again, aren't you."

"No, I am not," the prince replied mildly.

Luke huffed, exasperated. While his frustration was more prominent, he denied the undercurrent of fear that ran like ice through his heart. It scared him that Lucien was shutting him out and he had no idea why, or how to fix it. He couldn't help but think that attachment like this to someone else was a weakness. There were more essential matters requiring his attention, but Lucien's strange mood was so distracting. Luke had far too much pride to continue throwing himself at the other man, so he focused on readying for bed.

It was an hour after he had doused the light, Luke still awake and blinking up at the ceiling, that the prince revealed what was on his mind, which unsurprisingly was the same thing on Luke's.

"What is Light's plan after Missy is deposited at the nunnery?"

Luke looked askance to where Lucien was sitting by the pillows, before turning on his side and propping his head in his hand.

"I'm not sure yet," Luke admitted, though he was a man who had heretofore always known his next steps. "It's not in my nature to run, but it's also not in my nature to walk into a waiting trap."

Lucien stared down at him with a guarded expression.

"I was thinking that I might carefully make my way into Rome," Luke elaborated. "There are still a few people I trust enough to be able to get information from them. After all, I can't just take your word for it, prince."

"I see." Lucien was cupping his knees in his hands, legs drawn in close to his body. His bare feet were unconsciously worrying at the bedsheets. "This is wise, obtaining more information can only be beneficial, so long as Light is careful of the risks."

"I'll be careful, but… I really can't just walk away without confirming it for myself. It's not that I don't trust your reasoning. I just need to know, through my own methods."

"I understand," Lucien replied evenly. He wasn't the least bit offended or surprised, it's what he himself would have done in the same position.

"And you?" Luke edged ever so much closer to the royal, attentively regarding the other's face, assessing his reactions. "You really think you'll have any luck with the Church?"

There was a pause before Lucien decided how to respond. "It is not in my nature to run, either."

"Well, then," Luke said with a soft melancholia. "It seems like your first friendship will last about a month longer, Lucien. After that, I don't believe we'll ever be able to see each other again."

The statement hung in the air, like a cold, oppressive snowfall, numbing everything.

It was why Lucien had been so quiet.

"How does Light feel about that?" Lucien asked, causing the knight to laugh a little.

"You want to talk about my feelings?" Luke smiled, with a bitter edge.

But Lucien was either impervious to the teasing, or didn't care.

"Yes," he answered, firmly.

Luke lay back against the pillows, eyes finding the familiar spots in the roof that he had been staring at. He considered how to answer, which was especially difficult because he hadn't decided how he felt about it yet.

"I'm… sad." He said the first thing that came to mind. "And I'm… relieved? Because if we were able to continue on like this, indefinitely, I'd be scared of what would happen."

There was a long, enduring silence, causing Luke to turn to face Lucien once more.

"Did I hurt your feelings?" Having spoken so bluntly, Luke wondered if he'd wounded Lucien. Feelings and emotions were a new topic for them to consider, one that neither felt any degree of comfort with, a previously useless topic.

"I am not sure," the prince finally responded. "I understand the conflict for Light. While I am not the cause of it, I am the catalyst. It does not make me happy to cause such hardship for Light, but I also wish he would arrive at the same acceptance I have. It is freeing."

"No one is free, Lucien. Perhaps least of all the two of us."

They looked at each other for a moment, before Lucien admitted his friend was right, in a way.

"…Indeed. I have obligations to my city and Light requires the resources of the Church to achieve his life's purpose. But even within this framework of obligation, Light and I do have the freedom to live authentically to our principles."

"Sounds like living selfishly, to me." Luke's tone of voice was bland. He wasn't trying to start a fight and Lucien seemed to sense that the knight just needed help talking things through. "Don't you see how we have to make a choice? Maybe to a lesser degree for you. Lots of royals do all kinds of disgusting things behind their closed palace doors, and you don't seem to care about being damned. But don't you understand how it is for me? How it's either everything I've lived for… or you?"

Luke's amber eyes were clear, shining with something that looked like innocence, his vulnerability written across his beautiful face. Lucien's disobedient heart clenched a little. He moved slowly, leaning forward and placing a kiss against the unresisting knight's forehead. Staring into the unguarded eyes of the man he cared for so deeply, Lucien whispered back.

"Of course I understand."

Retreating, Lucien intended to go back to crouching and thinking, but he felt himself being pulled down into the bed. Soon, he was enveloped by the blankets that were already warmed with Luke's body heat.

"I wish I didn't have to choose," Luke confessed, immediately regretting it. It was all getting to be too much for him. Though he felt the strong desire to do so, he couldn't bring himself to kiss Lucien. He clung desperately to the moorings that had guided him this far, though even he could see how useless they were.

"Your back must hurt from sitting reverse in the saddle all afternoon. Let's get some rest," he whispered, despite seeing that Lucien had opened his mouth to speak.

Of course, both men were far too absorbed in their own private post-mortems of the conversation for either to find rest easily.

xx

The long-awaited day to finally be rid of Miriam had arrived. Luke had begun recognizing mile markers, and though the terrain they passed through was the milder end of the mountain chain, the Alps had risen in one titanic peak after another around them. The mountain air was sweet, fragrant with meadow flowers and the citrusy hint of pine. Birdsong filled the gaps in conversation, which were many, as each of the four travelers seemed lost in thought.

With the brilliant sunshine soaking heavily through the pristinely white clouds, it was warm and pleasant. But Luke knew that the temperature dropped savagely overnight and caught with the wrong supplies at the wrong time of year could sometimes mean death by hypothermia. He concentrated on the places Lucien's body was making contact with his, and though he couldn't feel the other shivering, he was glad that they would reach the nunnery by nightfall. Though the prince could certainly fight well and had endured days of walking and near-starvation, Luke couldn't help but think of the other with a certain frailty that made him worry about Lucien in the cold.

As he guided the quartet a little way off the road and into the tall summer grasses of a mountain lea, the knight was struck with an obscure sense of foreboding. It was a sensation completely at odds with the gorgeous scenery, and with the fragile butterflies gliding around them as they ate a small lunch of bread and cheese (Luke had even found a ripe peach for Lucien, the closest thing to sweets he could procure before leaving the town that morning). He would be able to turn custody of Miriam over to the Abbess and bid a permanent, long-awaited farewell to Martin as well… By this time tomorrow it would just be him and Lucien on the road together once more. So why was he filled with this creeping dread?

xx

The feeling persisted, but was substantially quieted once Luke was reunited with the Abbess, one of his favourite teachers and a surrogate mother to the knight. She was elderly now, but she greeted Luke with abundant love and a spry smile.

"My dear son! Back so soon? How is our friend, the Archduke? Already in Strasbourg? My my… it feels like you were here just yesterday. You must be run ragged from so much travel."

"Mother." With undisguised affection, Luke stooped so that the older woman could kiss his brow before he embraced her. Their long history together was obvious to everyone in the room. "I am indeed weary, but I've returned so quickly on an important mission to Rome. One from our 'friend' the Archbishop, actually."

Luke lifted his chained arm and stepped aside to let the Abbess fully take in Lucien.

"This is the Prince of Strasbourg, Lucien Lawliet. The Archbishop ordered him brought before the Pope to answer for a… rather minor scuffle between our party and the townspeople."

"Oh my," the abbess clucked, looking Lucien's hunched personage up and down. "Well, our 'friend' the Archbishop was always rather ready to take things personally."

The two shared a knowing smile. Meanwhile, Miriam and Martin were picking their jaws up off the floor. Till this point they had not been aware that Lucien was anything other than a common criminal, much less royalty.

"And this is Miss Miriam Amantia. You recall Lord Amantia from Rome? He is Miss Miriam's distinguished father. I happened to meet Lady Amantia on my journey and was charged with bringing Miss Miriam to your care here at St. Bernice."

"To take the vows?"

"Yes, Mother."

It was now Miriam's turn to be scoped by the abbess's head-to-toe gaze. The young girl stared at the ground like she was hoping it would split open and swallow her, her humiliation was so evident. Martin was gaping at Miriam as well, now that her story of visiting a relative had been unraveled.

Neither woman exchanged words. The abbess was renowned for her tough teaching methods, and new students (in this case new nuns) had to prove themselves before earning the old woman's affection.

"And this?"

Martin had once again failed to introduce himself as a gentleman should, and the abbess's harsh eyes were on him now. When the merchant produced little more than an incoherent squeak, Luke stepped in.

"This is Signore Martin Cavaradossi. He is Miss Miriam's friend, and he insisted on traveling with us for the security, as he himself admits he is still wet behind the ears and woefully unprepared for the many trials and tribulations of long travel."

Martin squeaked again to protest but he was already being ignored.

"My dear Luke you certainly have had your hands full. Just this once I won't add to your troubles by enforcing rules about male visitors not affiliated with the Church. Signore Cavaradossi can stay in a spare room outside the cloisters."

Luke wanted to say that she didn't have to break the rules on Martin's account, but kicking the merchant out into the darkening, cold night would cause more drama than it was worth.

"And you must remain chained to your prisoner?" Seeing Luke's nod, the abbess continued. "How unfortunate… Well, in any case, we will get you some warm food and make sure you have a room to accommodate the both of you."

"Thank you Mother, but I need to tend to my horse first. He's been ridden hard."

"Oh, no need to worry. I'll tell one of the girls to take care of everything. We do all the stabling ourselves, so our girls are quite knowledgeable, you need not be concerned."

"Thank you, Mother."

The abbess glowed. She relished the chance to spoil and fuss over Luke, whom she made no secret of being her favourite protégé ever. Taking his filthy Templar tunic from him, she arranged to have it laundered before his departure tomorrow, also seeing that the cloth around his wrist to prevent the chafing of the cuffs was replaced with fresh, clean linen. She had given the knight an odd look but obliged nonetheless when Luke had requested that Lucien's was replaced as well.

Soon, everyone was fed and taken care of; dinner had been full of the abbess and Luke catching up and discussing theology and general updates on the Church. A few of the older nuns had been permitted to prepare and serve the food, and Luke seemed oblivious to their open enchantment with him, though the truth was he noticed and didn't care. Sly whispering and tittering were also shared behind hands, on the topic of Lucien's appalling appearance. A vicious look from Luke had put a stop to that, the second time it had happened.

Afterward, Martin had been given strict instructions for where he was permitted to go, which included little more than his room, the orchard and the tower in which Luke and Lucien would be sleeping. Miriam looked at the pinnacle of misery the entire evening, and even Lucien found himself wondering why she had risked throwing away her whole life by fooling around with a Frenchman, especially since she professed to love only Light.

Finally, the long day came to a close, and Luke and Lucien had settled in their room, only after the knight had promised not to leave the next morning before having another long chat with the abbess in her offices. She had even offered to take his confession, prompting Luke to wonder where he would even start.

Now that he was in bed and the frenetic distraction of arriving at the nunnery was no longer so diverting, the feeling of dread chilled Luke once more. He had never felt such a sense of impending doom like this before, seemingly unprovoked. Was he just not ready for what more time alone with Lucien would bring? Despite not being able to put his finger on it, Luke didn't think that was the reason.

At long last, and beside a mute prince, Luke fell into a troubled sleep.

xx

Luke is dreaming again, once more about Lucien, but the dream is so much different this time. A nightmare.

His clothes are heavy and his skin slippery, soaked in a thick, wet substance. But he's in a dark place, too dark to see what's all over him. His hand slips against the wall as he feels his way around, trying to locate the exit, his footsteps unsure and halting, going too slow for his hammering heart and the panic rising in his stomach. Just as he is reminding himself that he never panics, he trips over something soft, whirling in the terrifying darkness for a moment before colliding with the hard floor. He is picking himself up when he freezes at the sound of angry shouting.

He can hear a mob approaching, their shouts seething and mingling until in unison they are chanting one word over and over: murderer. Soon, flickering torchlight cuts a line in the blackness, spilling into the room Luke is trapped in along with the raging mass of people.

Murderer! they scream, pointing at Luke, who reflexively raises his hands in protest, only to see that they are awash in a slick, crimson liquid. Blood. He looks down at himself. There's not a single inch of his body that isn't stained with red. At his feet, the torches illuminate what he tripped over: a small child-like being, whose wings are torn and blood-soaked.

"He is the murderer." A familiar, dead-pan voice snaps Luke's attention back to the mob, which has parted to reveal Lucien. The prince's arm is lifted, one index finger extended, accusing Luke.

Vertigo threatens to consume Luke, who staggers under its force.

"I didn't… I didn't kill anyone! Please believe me, Lucien!"

He would be so much more convincing if he wasn't so stained with blood.

xx

A gentle pressure at his shoulder woke Luke, who immediately saw Lucien sitting over him, a sort of déjà vu of their first night alone together in those ruins, when their journey had just begun.

"Light was having a nightmare," Lucien explained, with something like a note of concern in his voice.

Still panting hard, Luke closed his eyes again, trying to calm himself. He had perspired heavily, his palms slick with sweat. It reminded him too much of the feeling of the blood on his hands.

Once he had slowed his heart rate, Luke explained. "I dreamt of you."

"Perhaps I was wrong to assume it was a nightmare after all?" Lucien joked, a little cruelly.

"No, not like _that_ ," Luke hissed. A long pause. "I dreamt you betrayed me."

With his cuffed hand, Luke covered his eyes, trying desperately to counter the rise of emotion welling inside of him. The sense of dread he'd felt before sleeping was near-crushing, now. It took a long time for outside sounds to penetrate his awareness, but he realized he heard birds chirping. It must be dawn, or near it.

"Light, please tell me more," Lucien asked.

For a while, Luke wanted to reject the other's request. The dream had shaken him to his core, and he wasn't sure he was ready to talk about it. It was only when he realized that not talking about it would only serve to treat it like it was more than what it was—a stupid nightmare—that he opened up to Lucien.

"I was in a dark room. I couldn't find my way out, and I felt wet all over, but I didn't know why. Then you burst into the room, leading an angry mob. You accused me of being a murderer." Luke paused to moisten his lips. "I was wet with blood. And there was… there was some sort of angel on the floor, dead."

"I see," Lucien said.

"Lucien, ever since yesterday morning I've had a terrible feeling. I can't shake it. I think something awful is going to happen."

The prince considered the statement, putting his thumb between his lips. "This is unlike Light, who is not normally predisposed to hunches."

"I know," Luke sighed. He looked at Lucien. "But… I just can't shake it."

The two looked at each other, searching the other's face for some kind of answer to an unvoiced question. The room was beginning to lighten, and they both knew they should be making preparations to leave, but neither wanted to move.

"Lucien…" the knight whispered, "are you going to betray me?"

The older man stared at his friend. It was a silly question, but only from a strategic perspective... of course you wouldn't reveal a betrayal before it had happened. But Lucien had long ago laid all his cards on the table. He had no intention of fooling, betraying or otherwise hurting Luke.

The knock at the door might as well have been a thunderbolt striking in the middle of their room, it was so unexpected and startling. Luke snatched his hand away from where it had tentatively reached out for Lucien's face.

"Who is it?" Luke cried out in supreme irritation.

The bumbling that prefaced the reply made it so clear he hardly had to say his name. "Haha! Sorry Luke! It's me, Martin…"

"What do you want?" Luke had risen out of the bed by now and was making his way over to the door.

"I just remembered some money I owed you for the room a couple nights back. I wanted to settle up before we left today."

Luke nearly ripped the old door off its hinges, he flung it open so hard. He enjoyed the startled expression on Martin's dumb face.

"Fine," Luke said venomously, holding his hand out to accept the money.

"Oh, haha, yeah," Martin laughed nervously and fumbled with a coin purse, dropping it on the ground before he managed to dig out two silver pieces to put in Luke's outstretched palm.

"Well, Signore Cavaradossi," Luke was practically alight with rage at the interrupted moment. "Now that your account is settled, you should continue on your journey. I still have some business to attend to. _So_ sorry I can't see you off personally."

The merchant was in the middle of protesting when the knight's frayed patience totally ran out and he slammed the door in the man's face. At least that was one problem he'd never, ever have to deal with again.

Luke made his way back over to the bed to sit beside Lucien, where he bent forward, holding his aching head in his hands. Neither man realized that the abused door had not latched properly.

To his surprise, Luke felt the caress of the prince's hand on his back.

"I will not betray Light."

The helpless fear and the passion of the interrupted moment surged in Luke's breast like a tidal wave. He turned to face Lucien, seizing the other's hands and gripping them in his own.

"…How do I know?" The question wasn't coming from Luke's brain, it was coming from his heart. "How do I know you won't betray me, that you haven't already?"

Lucien decided that there was no way to answer a question from the heart with logic, and in this case, logic dictated that there was no way to prove the knight could trust him anyway. It would take a leap of faith. The prince hoped that his friend would, this once, throw evidence and logic to the void, and take that leap. He delicately extricated one of his hands, moving it to hold Luke's cheek in an echo of the pleading gesture Luke had made. Closing the space between them, he placed a tender kiss on Luke's lips.

 _I love you too much to be able to betray you_ , Lucien communicated through the kiss.

Whether or not Luke understood could not be told, but the knight surged forward nonetheless, pinning the prince against the bed. Lucien's loving kiss was reciprocated tenfold. The two had hardly touched each other for days, but Luke's surrender to his desires, at least for the moment, was total.

xx

The abbess was an early riser, and she had already performed her morning routine. The convent was in a tizzy with gossip about the young knight staying with them. The abbess smiled to herself; Luke did tend to have that effect, and as if she had given birth to him herself, she felt pride at the thought of the exceptional man. Still, it would be a relief once the girls calmed down and things got back to normal.

Sitting at her desk, the old woman gave herself over to her daily copying of the Bible, thinking to pass time until Luke came to speak with her before leaving for Rome. After a few verses, she noticed the room felt a little stale. The nunnery was a drafty building, but the cold stone could sometimes give off such a clammy closeness one would hardly believe summer was in its full glory outside. Shuffling over to the window overlooking the orchard, she opened it wide and inhaled a deep, appreciative breath before returning to her bureau and her work.

xx

Martin couldn't believe his luck when he had caught sight of Miriam lingering outside the dining hall. He hadn't been sure he'd be able to meet her again, or whether she'd already been cloistered. The girl looked as miserable as ever, and she drearily accepted when the merchant invited her out for a walk in the orchard.

Once outside, the two were at an uncharacteristic loss for words, finally finding a small iron bench leaning against a wall of the convent, surrounded by fruit trees.

"Are you going to ask me why I lied about visiting a relative here?" Miriam started. She was too deep in despair to feel much embarrassment anymore.

"Oh, uh," Martin replied unhelpfully. Before he could give an actual reply, Miriam pushed on.

"Well, I might as well just tell you the truth now. No one else has given me the chance to tell it, at any rate." She folded her hands in her lap. She looked pallid in the basic robes the abbess had provided her. Martin felt sorry that a pretty, vibrant girl like Miriam would be holed up here for the rest of her life. "My step-mother sent me here, because of something that happened when we were in the spas in France… But it's not what everyone thinks. I never gave my… I am still a maiden."

Martin was confused, but Miriam kept on speaking rapid-fire, and the merchant had no choice but to try and piece the story together as they went.

"You see, in France, we met a bunch of dirty old lords. Mother loved the attention but one of them wouldn't leave me alone. He was really bothering me, every day and every night, but Mother told me I should be grateful. Finally, one day, out of the blue, and in front of a bunch of people at a fancy ball, he asked me to marry him. I told him… I told him I would rather catch the plague…"

Martin winced. That had been a _very_ bad idea. Miriam would have been expected to unconditionally accept the offer.

"I know, I know… and this was in front of everyone who's anyone… I know I embarrassed him but I didn't care. Like I told you, the only man I'll ever love is Luke. But when I turned the lord down he got really upset. For everyone to hear he said 'that's certainly contrary to your actions last night.' And then he just kept lying that he was only doing the honourable thing and asking me to marry him after we'd had 'relations'. No one believed me, but… I really didn't do it."

"Missy… That's horrible."

"Mother was furious, but mostly because she said I'd humiliated her 'beyond words.' She and I have had a lot of fights about me getting married. You see, I've sabotaged every proposal before this… but this was the worst… I don't care if I get too old to marry. But now, Mother has given me over to a nunnery, and I'll… I'll never see Luke again…"

The girl's eyes were wet with tears. She looked down at her hands, where two fat tears plopped against her skin. Martin was astonished to say the least, but he did manage to formulate a question.

"Why didn't you tell any of this to Sir Luke? Wouldn't he have helped you?"

The girl could no longer hold back her sniffling and began to weep in earnest, choking out her heartbreak.

"I know that Sir Luke doesn't really care about me, but that's okay. I know he needed Mother's money. And he can't help me. He would shame my family and himself if he went against them or made this public."

"Why would you be in love with a person like that…"

"Well…" Miriam sobbed a little, unable to speak.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," Martin comforted her.

"No," she said, biting her lip. She sniffed hard. "I want to tell you. Sir Luke is my hero. He is true justice. The mother I told you about, the one I went to France with, she's my father's second wife. My real mother was on pilgrimage to Jerusalem when she was killed for being Catholic. A few months after he was made Captain, Luke lead a crusade right into the town my mother was murdered in. He punished every last heathen that lived there. He… avenged my mother. I know in my heart he is justice. He punishes sinners just like he promised he always would."

"And I guess it doesn't hurt that he's a pretty handsome guy too," Martin joked, trying to lighten the mood for no good reason. In any case, it was obvious Miriam's mood was one that refused lightening. He gave her another look before his own face turned serious and he braced himself.

"Look, Missy, I need to tell you something. It might help…"

The girl sniffed again, and turned her tearful eyes toward the merchant who was suddenly so grave.

"This morning… I… I went to pay Luke back for that time he cleared the whole bill at the inn. I gave him money but he closed the door on me before I could ask him how to get out of here..." Martin scratched the back of his head bashfully. "You see, I've never taken this particular route and I needed Luke to tell me how to get back to the main road. But he was in a really bad mood… when I gathered the courage and went to the door again, it was open just a crack…"

He paused, feeling guilty that he might be about to shatter poor Miriam's already bruised heart, but it might also help her get over the knight for good. She was staring at him, waiting for him to get to the point.

"Missy, there was no mistaking it. I saw Luke kissing that guy… the prince. I could see it plainly in front of me. I don't think he knows I saw, I ran out of the tower as fast as I could—Missy, it's a waste for a woman like you to be in love with a man like that… he's a sinner just like the ones you say he punishes, worse, even—"

"I know," Miriam interrupted.

Agape, Martin stopped speaking, looking at Miriam with open bewilderment.

"I already knew about them," Miriam explained. "The same thing happened to me. Well, sort of. There were a few nights where I couldn't sleep and I went to their door to talk to Luke. He thinks I don't speak French and I pretended not to understand when they talked to each other, but I spent enough time at the spas that I picked up enough to get by… I eavesdropped on a lot of their conversations. I know I shouldn't have, but I couldn't help it…"

"And you still…?"

"Of course. I will always love Luke. Lucien is really creepy, but Luke really seems to love him. I've waited years to have Luke look at me the way he looks at that guy..."

Suddenly frantic, Miriam turned and grabbed both of Martin's hands.

"Please, Martin!" she cried out. "I'm begging you, never tell anyone! Please! If you did, Luke would be killed… If Luke dies, I'll die too. Please, promise me!"

Martin, of course, swore himself to secrecy, patting the girl's hands soothingly. He waited a couple minutes while Miriam expended more tears, but their conversation ended soon after and both decided to return to the dining hall for breakfast before Miriam was found and punished. Neither noticed that they had been sitting beneath an open window.

xx

The two men were only moments away from descending their tower to join in on breakfast, all their supplies packed and ready, when another knock came at their door. Luke muttered to Lucien that if it was Martin again, he'd truly be hard-pressed not to finally murder him.

The knight was surprised when he opened the door to reveal the abbess.

"Mother, you didn't have to climb all these stairs, I was just on my way…"

There was something hard and glacial in the woman's expression that made Luke's words wither in his mouth.

"Mother… what is it?"

"Be silent," the abbess commanded. "You will not defile me by speaking to me."

"Defile you? What are you—"

The abbess violently raised a hand, and Luke instantly fell silent out of habit. Why was she so upset with him? Why the sudden anger? Unless…

No. There was no way she could know. But as soon as he thought of the possibility, Luke knew it was true. Nausea rose and he felt close to vomiting. He recalled the dizzying vertigo he had felt in the nightmare. It was overcoming him now.

"I have loved you like my own child, Luke," the abbess snarled. The tiniest glimmer in the corner of her eyes was the only hint to her heart, but they could just as well have been tears of wrath. "And you have betrayed us all. And for _what?_ For that… that… _swine?_ " Her accusatory finger cut the air like a scythe, shaking as it pointed at Lucien.

"You would forsake the Knights? The Church? God? For… for that _thing?_ Despicable! You have shamed us all! You have humiliated me, undone my life's work! Two messengers are already on their way, one to the village and one to Rome. They are distributing a warrant for your arrest and execution."

Luke's knees nearly buckled.

"I am here to detain you until the villagers arrive. You have always been like a son to me. I raised you as if you were of my own flesh! Your sins are my sins. I will spend the rest of my life atoning for having failed to save your soul. The only mercy I will show you is that I will plead for you to be hanged and not burned at the stake. No such kindness will extended to that _creature_."

Luke could see two viable options and in a split second, made his choice.

Luke shoved roughly past the woman, winding her as she collided against the wall behind her. Her breathless shrieks followed the two men who fled like phantoms down the stairs.

xx


	9. Betrayal

The only small luck they had been afforded was that they had been fully equipped when the Abbess had knocked on the door; which meant that Luke was armed and armoured. He drew his sword now as they fled, hoping he wouldn't have to cut his way through anyone but ready to do so nonetheless.

Thankfully, no one was foolish enough to stand in their way, but the two men met no shortage of onlookers, staring with a myriad of expressions. Bewilderment, terror, disgust. Miriam was nowhere to be seen amongst them, and it was likely she had been detained to prevent her from helping Luke or interfering in other ways. Fleeing like a prey animal was a mighty blow to Luke's pride, so much the worse because of the audience.

It was impossible to know how long they had before people would arrive to arrest them, or what direction they would come from first. It might be a safer bet to escape back through Germany, as far away from Rome as they could get. Running South would obviously bring them closer to Italy, but it was also less restricted terrain where the mountains opened up. Going back to Germany meant taking the considerable gamble they wouldn't meet with any foes in the mountain pass; essentially one open road with little cover.

Luke churned through all their options as they sprinted toward the stables, finding their horse easy enough. But he had no idea where the groomer had stashed their saddle, and a cursory search yielded nothing except a saddle on a workbench, out for repair. Two men riding a horse bare-back wouldn't have a chance in outrunning anyone properly mounted, so Luke decided to chance the old saddle as the lesser of their two evils.

He looked over to Lucien who was bridling the horse. "You're going to ride in front of me."

The prince had hardly time to nod before he was seized by the mounted knight and secured between Luke's legs, the younger man encircling the older with a crushing arm, gripping the reins in the other.

"Hold on tight," Luke advised before violently kicking into the sides of the poor beast. He was too accustomed to battle hardened horses who would have wasted no time in shooting out of the stables like a bat out of hell, but the panicked horse reared, nearly bashing Luke's head against the stable ceiling. Lucien felt Luke's grip tighten on him even more, and the two men managed to stay mounted.

"Okay, sorry!" Luke yelled down at the animal. Then, a little less forcefully, Luke spurred the horse, finally getting it out of the stable in a halting trot. If they had any chance of avoiding capture, they'd need to go so much faster. Trying to avoid spooking the horse again, Luke dug his heels into its ribs with gradual pressure. The horse was either too frightened or feeling vengeful, because it refused to go beyond a mild canter. Losing patience once more, Luke unsheathed his sword and gave the animal a good smack on the rump with the flat of his blade.

At last, with the wind whipping around them, the nunnery began to grow smaller and smaller behind them. The last time Luke had cast a look over his shoulder, he had recognized the figure of the old abbess, standing in the open doors and watching him leave. He was surprised at the sharpness of the pain that pumped through his heart at the sight of her.

Lucien was taking the speed well, staying firmly in the saddle and not jostling overmuch against Luke. The knight gave a brief moment to wonder what his companion was making of all this, but there was no time to stop and chat about it.

"As soon as it's safe, I'm going to take the horse into the woods so we can hide," Luke said loudly in Lucien ear, in order to be heard over the wind and the pounding of hooves. The royal nodded. Luke knew the other had to have noticed that they were travelling Italy-wards, but Luke wanted it to be abundantly clear he had no intention of ever going back to the Church.

The mountains were still too thick and steep around them for it to be safe to deviate from the road. If the horse slipped on loose rocks or stumbled on an incline and became injured, Luke worried about their chances for survival. But he was growing ever more concerned that they would meet foes, traveling out in the open on the road like this. The prospect of capturing two wanted fugitives of the Church would be lucrative enough that the knight wouldn't be surprised if every able-bodied man from here to Rome mobilized against them.

xx

They had ridden hard for about a half an hour, pushing the animal to its limits. Amongst Luke's many fears, killing their mount became primary, and he felt he could wait no longer before leaving the stability of the path, even if a tired horse was all the more susceptible to injury in the forest. He eased up on the reins, allowing the beast to slow, before steering it into the trees that grew beside the road. Deeper and deeper into the forest they rode, until they were totally obscured. No one traveling the road would be able to see them, though Luke suspected the search party would be combing through the woods as well.

Leaning to the side to get a better look at the horse, he saw foam dripping from its mouth and the whites of its eyes. Luke sighed.

"We have to stop here," he announced, reluctantly dismounting and helping Lucien down with him. "The horse is just about dead on its feet. We have to rest it, we have no choice."

Though he was unsurprised, Luke was dismayed to see the amount of lather, creamy on the horse's steaming fur as he pulled the old saddle off. The animal would need hours to cool off and rest, and Luke felt like a sitting duck.

He turned to the prince who had been silent the entire time. Lucien looked up at Luke, meeting his amber eyes with an expression that was unreadable, though it certainly wasn't blank. Something about the way the dappled morning sunlight shivered across Lucien, illuminating choice patches of his skin and hair, stirred something deep within Luke.

They were free, he realized.

Not that any of this had happened on his terms, but he realized that for better or for worse, the choice had been made for him. His life with the Church was no more, there was only Lucien now.

It seemed that the royal was able to guess at the cataclysm unfolding within his friend, and he watched as Luke's unmasked face contorted with fear, warmed with excitement and darkened with sorrow, all in rapid succession. Seeing that Luke was unravelling, he reached out and embraced him.

Luke hugged Lucien back, hard. Interpreting the gesture as the gateway to their new, shared life, the knight tried to regain his equilibrium. Soon, almost of their own accord, his hands were petting Lucien's back, his shoulders, his hair.

Still holding the slight man to him, Luke murmured hesitantly, so close his lips were almost grazing Lucien's ear.

"So, where do you want to go?"

As he had been wont to do in recent days, Lucien answered with silence. Luke pulled away to look down into the other's face. Lucien's eyes were clouded, holding something within them that made Luke's stomach bottom out for the countless time that awful day.

"I wish to meet with the Pope," Lucien said, voice low and heavy.

Luke laughed. "Yeah, alright. We can decide later."

"I am serious." The prince's face was graven, stony; he had predicted this terrible moment, but it was so unwelcome now that it had finally arrived.

"I know you have a weird sense of humour, but I really don't have the patience right now."

"I am serious," the royal repeated.

"Lucien. You can't be! You want to be killed? And you know I can't set foot in Rome ever again! Did you not hear what the Abbess said?"

"As Prince, I cannot abandon my city and run off with Light. Whether I am able to successfully negotiate with the Pope or whether I am executed, I must not hide from the legacy of my throne."

"Are you kidding me right now?" Luke's voice was rising, poisonous. "Of _course_ you can! What good is a dead prince going to do for Strasbourg? We'll both be burned at the stake if we set foot anywhere in Italy. Why are you being so foolish? Are you testing me?"

"I am not testing Light. And I am aware of the risks, which is why I will travel to Rome on my own. Light is free to do as he wishes."

"Lucien—What—How can you be saying this right now? You want me to leave you to your pointless death? That's what you're asking of me? When I just torched my chance to fix this with the abbess?"

"I did not wish for Light to do that—"

"Well, I did, and I did it to save you. To get you far away from here, not bring you into the clutches of the Pope!"

"Light must respect my decision—"

Lucien ducked to avoid a right hook from the knight. He could have easily swept low to land a kick on Luke's jaw, but he didn't want to fight. Not when Luke's hurt was so readable across his face. But the knight had been wound too tightly, and now was breaking. He kept throwing punch after punch at the prince, and when he finally caught Lucien on the cheek, the prince had no choice. A well-aimed kick to Luke's solar plexus left the knight breathless.

"Light, listen to me," Lucien ordered. Luke was still gasping, less sitting and more falling to his knees as his vision swam from lack of oxygen. Lucien knelt down beside him, deciding to wait until the knight had regained himself to continue.

"I want Light to live," he explained softly, his hand on Luke's heaving shoulder. "It is my dear wish. Light must continue to live. I am filled with regret that I am not able to live with him, but he must live."

Luke tried to speak but his voice was too hoarse, giving way to a coughing fit as his body tried to get its breath back.

The prince was about to say more, when his ears pricked at an ominous sound. Luke must have heard it too, because he tried desperately to stifle his coughing.

Another moment of listening, before their fears were confirmed.

Bloodstream flooding with adrenaline, Luke shot up, recovered, running back to their horse with hands racing to fit the decrepit saddle back on. Another second and the knight had mounted without thinking, reaching for Lucien.

The prince stood, unmoving, looking up at Luke from the ground. The sounds of the approaching search party were pronounced, now.

"Lucien, please!" Luke thrust his arm out again. "I'll bring you to Rome myself if it means we don't let ourselves get captured here. Please!"

Realizing that his hesitation would only cost Luke dearly, the prince reached for Luke's outstretched hand and allowed himself to be pulled up. With a hard smack, Luke got the horse to a ragged, hitching gallop.

Luke tried to focus only on putting distance between them and the mob, deliberately steering the horse deeper into the forest where the land began to steepen into the foot of the mountains. He shut out the sounds of the poor animal's shuddering breath, the argument that he had just had with Lucien, the agonized whirling of his thoughts and feelings. Narrowly, he missed getting clotheslined by a low branch. He needed to focus.

"If we fall at this speed, we're dead," Luke told Lucien unnecessarily. It was clear from the blur of trees and rocks shooting by them that any misstep would be fatal. The knight readjusted his hold on the prince, pressing him tightly against his own body. They rode as one, balance and movements synced to make it easier on the horse.

It was right after Luke had maneuvered the horse around a particularly large tree that he heard a sickening snapping sound. He was already flying through the air before he realized what was happening. Out of instinct he clung to Lucien, hoping to shield the other from most of the impact.

The old saddle's belt had torn.

xx

It was afternoon, and Luke still lay in a crumpled, unconscious pile. He had sustained a head wound, and though the trickle of blood from it was but a little, it was impossible for Lucien to tell how serious the injury really was.

Though it had every opportunity to escape, and in spite of being thoroughly misused that morning, the horse had returned. There was nothing stopping the prince from leaving, except for love. But after hobbling the animal to a low tree branch, Lucien went to where Luke was laying, sitting down and taking the knight's battered head into his lap. There were no guarantees Luke would ever wake up, but as long as there was a chance, Lucien would stay. Though leaving Luke here would have the greatest strategic value, abandoning the injured man was totally out of the question even though Luke would undoubtedly continue to interfere with the prince's plans. So, for the time being, their fates were still twined.

That is, if Luke lived.

To keep his mind off the possibility that they had evaded the searching townsfolk only for Luke to die here in the woods, Lucien held up an unanswered conversation, revealing all the secrets of his childhood and adolescence, talking about all the times he had escaped the dullards who were supposed to be his teachers. Then, he one-sidedly argued through different philosophical concepts before providing his thoughts on the scientific progress of the day, all in soothing monotone. His long, pale fingers tirelessly stroked at the knight's russet hair, careful to avoid contact with the injured area. Every now and then, Lucien would pause his caresses to check Luke's forehead for signs of fever, which, promisingly, had yet to show.

One thing pronounced itself paramount above all others, now that Lucien had had hours to consider their situation. He would never permit Luke to be hurt like this again. He would never agree to the knight escorting him to Rome, the journey would be Lucien's alone. He had no qualms about arguing with, tricking or outwitting Luke into a life of safety and freedom, even if the knight thought that wasn't what he wanted.

If only Luke would wake up.

It was almost evening, now. Finally, miraculously, Luke stirred, groaning. With intense relief, Lucien watched as Luke's eyelids fluttered open, revealing unfocused but living eyes.

"What…" Luke's small voice petered out. Reflexively he tried to rise, but Lucien gently stopped him.

"Light hit his head. He must rest."

Luke fought through his disorientation, trying to recall what had happened when he winced, bringing a hand up to clutch at his aching head. It felt like someone had driven a nail through his skull and his vision was swirling dizzily. He stayed in Lucien's lap for a long time, until the pain had ebbed into a dull ache and the spinning sensation had calmed.

"Are you okay?" he spoke up to the prince.

"I am fine, thanks to Light."

Some of the tension seemed to leave Luke's face, but he cringed when he tried again to rise. This time Lucien helped him up.

"How long was I out? I don't remember anything after getting back on the horse."

"For the afternoon," Lucien told him. "It is lucky that Light is able to get up and talk. It was a very bad fall. I was deeply concerned."

"Hm. I'm surprised we both survived. Even more surprised we weren't found, either."

"The search party passed by, but they did not venture so deep into the forest."

Luke was standing unsteadily, checking his body for other wounds. His back ached horribly, he assumed that's where he'd taken the brunt of the impact. It was incredible that none of his ribs felt broken. He lifted his left arm, from which the handcuff chain still dangled, connecting him to Lucien.

"You could have left me here," the knight stated matter-of-factly. It was not meant to be an indictment, but neither did his voice hold any warmth. "You know I'm going to try and stop you."

"I would have never left Light like that. I needed to confirm Light would be alright."

Luke turned to look at the still-sitting prince. "But you haven't changed your mind about your suicide mission to Rome?"

There was a long pause before Lucien got to his feet, coming to stand in front of Luke. The shorter man stared up into his companion's face, thinking how like a stubborn dog on a pant-leg Luke could be when he'd made up his mind about something.

"Give me the night to think about it," Lucien requested.

Luke could agree to that. He would find a way to change Lucien's mind.

Looking up into the darkening sky, Luke began to consider how they would spend the night at this altitude. Though they had been able to flee the convent with their essentials, they had little more than the clothing on their backs. Luckily, summer meant that temperatures wouldn't drop too harshly, but he worried again about Lucien's thin, undernourished body.

"I think we should camp here. I need some more rest before I can keep going. We can risk a fire once it gets dark. No one will see the smoke against the cloudy sky."

The prince nodded, eagerly assisting his friend as they picked their way slowly through the forest, collecting firewood and edible roots and berries, leading the horse behind them so it could graze. By the time it was dark, they had settled beside a small campfire, full enough on their forage to keep the worst of hunger's discomfort away.

"This is very much like the first part of my journey with Light," Lucien observed, hunkered by the fire and chewing on his thumb.

"Hmm, you're right," Luke responded languidly from where he was reclining on the ground, staring into the shifting flames. "It's surprising how enjoyable those days were. Before Miriam and everything else. Even though we hardly ate, walked too much and slept on the ground."

Then, as if it were an afterthought he added, "so much is different now, too. Between us."

He craned his neck to look at Lucien's reaction. There was a moment of potent eye contact that spoke eloquently of the feelings the two shared, and the pain they caused.

"Come here," Luke murmured, reaching out to receive the prince in his arms. "Let me keep you warm."

Lucien hadn't noticed the cold, but he obliged the request anyway. Luke's open affection touched him deeply. He fit himself in between Luke's legs, where the bigger man had risen to sit. They chatted about inconsequential things, discussing the species of trees in the forest or how to navigate using the constellations visible here, dancing around the bigger issues that lurked as dense, dark shadows over them. The resonance of Luke's voice across his chest that Lucien could feel on his back, and the low tones in which Luke spoke in his ear enspelled the prince. He memorized every sensation, every sound, locking them away as the knight continued to speak.

Finally, the small talk petered out, leaving silence in its wake. Slowly, the quiet began to fill with the sounds of the nightscape around them; the hushed swaying of the trees, the chirping of crickets and the occasional call of a nocturnal bird.

It was a long moment before Luke spoke, all at once confronting the impasse that lay like a gulf between them.

"I don't deserve it, but I want you to stay with me."

Lucien could not help the slight rigidity that stiffened his body. There was a lot to unpack in that simple statement, but he started with the part that surprised him the most.

"Why does Light think he is undeserving?"

Luke leaned into Lucien even more, resting his chin on the other's shoulder. "Well… I'm either a miserable failure or a hypocritical murderer… and I think we both know which one… if not both."

The prince had already considered this conundrum; how he could love someone who had done such terrible things. The answer had always come easily.

"It does not absolve him, but Light acted only in complete dedication to his vision of a perfect world. He never acted out of personal interest or for private gain. And Light seems to have come to a deeper understanding of humanity beyond the black and white doctrine of the Church. I imagine we would be in agreement over what constitutes a 'perfect world' now."

The knight took in the words, trying to believe them. He faltered and lifted his head, only to drop it lower, scrunching his eyes closed against Lucien's shoulder. When he replied, it was in a small, grief-stricken voice.

"I am stained with innocent blood… I think that is actually why my soul is damned…"

The old Luke must truly be dead. The killer, the man who acted like he'd be the god of a new world, was gone. Proof positive was what was running through Luke's head now: that maybe he should follow Lucien to Rome after all, and offer himself up to atone for his true sins. Not for his supposed sin of loving the prince, but for the horrific acts he had committed as a representative of the Church. If nothing else, it would certainly be quite the statement…

…But he had no real intention of ever letting Lucien go to Rome. If needed, he would happily backtrack all the way to Strasbourg and help Lucien stage a formal insurrection—whatever the prince wanted to do to defend his city. Anything that didn't involve the immense gamble of Lucien delivering himself into the palm of the Church. Luke hardly mattered to himself anymore, but he was more terrified than ever of the risk to Lucien.

He pulled the prince tighter against him, raising his head again, so they were nearly cheek to cheek.

"Are you warm enough?" Luke murmured in low, honey tones.

"Yes," Lucien answered.

The campfire crackled pleasantly, the colours in the embers shifting hypnotically.

"You know," Luke resumed the thread of their earlier conversation, "I don't think that nightmare meant what I thought it did. It wasn't about you betraying me. I think it was more so my feelings… my guilt… you aren't accusing me of anything, but you're the reason I've awakened to this guilt in the first place. I would have never become this person I am now, if it weren't for you."

It wasn't clear whether Luke believed that was a good or bad thing. Lucien was thinking once more that Luke's methods had been tragically misguided, but his intentions had been so noble. It was strange how able he was to separate the actions from the man. And he couldn't help but wonder what Luke would have been capable of, would have evolved into, had he not been force-fed the Church's doctrine from such an early age.

"Lucien," Luke said, insistent and sincere, his hushed voice so near to the prince's ear that it sent frissons down Lucien's spine. "I don't think I can ever atone… I don't think I can ever be forgiven. But I can't leave you. My life… even if it's worthless, it's yours now. I want to fight for your perfect world, for your concept of Justice."

The royal's eyes widened, and he twisted so that he could see Luke's face better. The expression he saw was immediately readable, yet sublime. The knight's true face was unmasked, the last of his multitude of facades discarded. His guileless eyes caught the firelight, shining with earnestness, filled with passion to the point of innocence. Lucien loved this true self of Luke's so much.

He must have seen something flickering in the depths of Lucien's own eyes, because Luke whispered the plea that threatened to undo all of the prince's plans.

"So. Will you stay with me?"

Lucien pressed his lips to Luke's, who took the kiss as his answer. Perhaps it was a little bit on the 'cheap tricks' side, but suddenly Luke wasn't above trying to seduce the prince into promising. He would do anything to be able to stay by Lucien's side. In any case, there was so much they had yet to share, and, if he was being honest with himself, Luke needed no ulterior motive to explore.

But the desire to bind Lucien to him emboldened the knight, guiding his hands and tongue to press further than they ever had. He could feel his pulse in his fingertips as they slipped underneath the prince's shirt, so fervent was the pounding of his heart. And with Lucien in his lap still, the smaller man was pressed against Luke's arousal; the part of his body he had never even pleasured himself, believing it a terrible sin. Perhaps it was the lingering dizziness from his concussion, but Luke's head was swimming as if he were drunk.

He pulled his lips away briefly, only to catch his breath and regain a modicum of his composure. But when he saw the flush warming Lucien's white cheeks and the heat in his half-lidded eyes, he lost the last of his control. This sort of drunkenness was the sweetest, most consuming type he'd ever surrendered to.

The kisses Luke bestowed upon Lucien's mouth soon spilled over, falling on the prince's glowing cheeks, down across his throat. He began to form an intention, one that was simultaneously scary and beguiling. Surging on, he dropped his hand to Lucien's thigh, when his bravery wavered.

"…Can I…"

The second half of the question was not given voice, but Lucien seemed to understand immediately.

"Yes," the prince responded with no trace of hesitation. If anything, he managed to make it sound like an order.

It was a wonder Luke's ribcage could contain his wild heart. After one more pause, the knight's hand animated once more, creeping to the waist of Lucien's pants where it moved underneath the fabric.

Both men gasped as Luke's fingers found Lucien, but it was at that moment that Luke realized, pitifully, he had no idea what to do next. He wanted to make his lover feel good and was paralyzed by his inexperience.

It was a long moment that passed, long enough that Luke wanted to apologize, before he felt Lucien lean even more heavily into his body, the prince enclosing Luke's hand in his. Breathless, Luke surrendered as Lucien guided him, moving his hand. A heady sigh fell from the prince's mouth and it proved all the urging Luke needed. The knight eagerly attuned himself to the reactions his fingers elicited, and he learned quickly what pressure and speed gave Lucien pleasure. Gaining confidence, he began kissing the snowy flesh of the prince's neck, pleased to be able to feel the frantic rhythm of Lucien's heartbeat against his lips.

"Faster." Lucien's plea was little more than a whispered breath, but there was a depth to his usually monotone voice that Luke had never heard before.

The knight was eager to oblige, his hand moving quicker and quicker, until all at once Lucien arched against him, a short moan escaping the prince's tight throat. Luke felt a different kind of pulse against his palm, which was now growing wet. Lucien's entire body went slack, and it finally dawned on Luke what had happened—what he had been able to elicit from Lucien's body.

Once more thrown for a loop, Luke was at a loss for how to act, what to say, now that this threshold had been crossed.

Luckily for him, Lucien had decided not to wait for Luke to figure out how to react, the prince turning fully to face the other, kissing him with renewed fervor. Luke relented as Lucien gently pushed him down, the slight man climbing on top of him once the knight was supine. Since he'd had no expectations of Lucien reciprocating, it was a while before Luke finally understood that Lucien was going to bring him to the same climax he himself had experienced.

The realization permeated Luke with a fibrillating anxiety, and beneath that, a deep sense of shame. Automatically, he tensed, halting Lucien's arm where it was traveling downward.

Lucien gave a convincing performance of a mind reader, speaking before Luke had even gathered all his own fragmented thoughts.

"It is not a sin, Light."

Frozen, Luke vacillated. He wanted to be touched by Lucien, he wanted to know what that peak had felt like, having never experienced it in a conscious state. But…

"Light may stop me whenever it becomes too much," Lucien offered, soothing the obvious conflict his lover was suffering.

Unable to trust his voice, Luke licked his lips slowly, before ceding with a single nod. Just a little wouldn't hurt… he could stop Lucien any time…

Luke gnawed on his lower lip and he lay back against the ground, scrunching his eyes closed, not breathing. He was hyper-aware of every physical sensation, shuddering at the contact of Lucien's fingertips on his stomach, near the hem of his shirt. The touch might as well have been fire, for the intensity it radiated across the knight's skin.

With unhurried gentleness, Lucien's hand traced Luke's abdomen, allowing the younger man to become accustomed to the touch. A few times, Luke had inhaled, meaning to speak and ask Lucien to stop, only to remain speechless. He simply couldn't bring himself to stop this.

Finally, but over the cloth of his pants, Luke felt the heat of Lucien's palm, applying tentative pressure to the most private place on his body. Luke grit his teeth and clenched fistfuls of soil. He wished he could caress Lucien, but it was all he could do to lay there, always on the cusp but never actually able to stop his lover.

With an innate sense of pacing, Lucien rubbed and touched, always waiting for Luke to be ready before escalating. Finally, intuiting the knight's acquiescence, the prince unlaced Luke's pants, where skin met skin.

Luke uttered a brief cry, inadvertently lifting his hips and pressing harder into Lucien's grip. Logic and coherent feelings like anxiety or shame melted away, Luke's entire nervous system alight with sensation. Just as he was getting used to the friction and speed of Lucien's hand, it was taken away.

Instead, it was replaced by the intermittent heat of Lucien's breath. Suddenly understanding what was about to happen next, Luke's head shot up, his mouth open and ready to form the command to stop… The two men looked into each other's eyes, before Lucien's face dropped once more. The word was still perched at the tip of Luke's tongue when he was encircled by wet warmth, the most intense physical pleasure he'd ever experienced.

He threw his head back, crying out and writhing against where Lucien's hands were against his hips. He was powerless to do little else but moan and gasp in alternation as he felt Lucien's tongue running against him. When the prince's head began moving up and down, joined by the twin caress of his hand, Luke reached for fistfuls of the royal's black hair, Lucien's mouth readily accepting even when Luke's hips hitched and bucked. Racing ahead of the knight's ability to understand it, a sort of pressure began to pool in his abdomen, rising and rising until, in a singular moment, it spilt over; Luke shuddered under the waves of ecstasy, bliss echoing in his voice. His heart hammered out the last of its crescendo, his brain beautifully blank as Lucien finally pulled away, redressing Luke with tenderness and coming to lay beside him.

Even in the meager light, the prince could see Luke's brow glistening, and watched his Adam's apple move underneath the skin of his throat as Luke swallowed hard. Taking another moment to regain his breath, Luke's eyes finally slid open and he tilted his head to look into Lucien's face.

"That was the most incredible feeling," he managed, immediately thinking how silly that sounded.

"I know." Lucien's smiling agreement was ready, nonetheless.

Since more words would only come across as foolish or insufficient, Luke snaked his arm under Lucien instead, pulling the other man into his embrace, holding him tightly against his chest.

Surprisingly, Luke's normally agile thoughts were now heavily muffled by a wave of intense sleepiness. He felt so relaxed and spent, there was nothing he wanted more than to keep holding Lucien and fall asleep. But before he could rest, he needed to hear it, explicitly from Lucien's mouth.

"Lucien…"

"…Yes, Light?"

"…Are you going to stay with me?"

Silence.

"Lucien?"

"…Yes… I will stay."

Luke released the breath he'd been holding, and moved one of his hands from Lucien's back to stroke the prince's hair.

"Promise me…"

"… I promise," came the prince's quiet voice.

Thus assured, Luke snuggled against his lover, making sure the skinny royal would be warm enough throughout the chilly night. Luke's body was certainly radiating an abundance of happy warmth, more than enough for the both of them.

With a kind of contentedness he'd never felt before, Luke fell unresisting into the black void of a deep, dreamless slumber.

xx

That contentedness was still there when he was awakened by the first sunbeams penetrating the forest canopy, and he eagerly opened his eyes, ready to take in the details of the first day of his new life with Lucien.

His eyes saw the dead coals of the spent fire.

They saw the earth of the forest floor, disturbed during their union the previous night.

They saw the empty tree, absent of the horse that had been tied to it.

They saw the limp handcuff chain, connected to his left wrist, leading to an unlocked manacle, lying like a dead creature on the ground.

Luke saw he was alone.

xx


	10. Fate

A cry, mangled by heartbreak and fury, ripped from Luke's mouth.

"You liar!" Luke screamed out into the vacant forest. "You goddamned _liar_!"

Luke fell to his knees, feeling the impact in the deep bruises all over his back and in the swelling where he'd hit his head. But that purely physical pain was eclipsed by the emotional maelstrom shredding his heart.

What if he never saw Lucien again?

 _Not an option_ , Luke thought, clenching his jaw. He didn't know how he could possibly catch up with a man on horseback, with hours as a head-start, who was just as clever as him and highly motivated to remain unfound. Motivated enough that he would betray Luke like this, after all.

After all those promises.

His eyes grew hot as he looked over at the handcuff chain, the key still in the lock of the opened manacle Lucien had worn. While he unlocked his own end, Luke felt almost as if he were removing a body part. So troublesome at first, the chain had come to represent Lucien's closeness; a tangible manifestation of the connection between them.

 _He must have stolen the key while I was unconscious_ , Luke realized. Meaning he'd never had a hope of persuading Lucien to stay, that the night they had shared together had always been intended as the prince's farewell.

Well, Lucien could make his play, but Luke wouldn't let him say goodbye. Not like this.

There was no time to waste, and Luke bolted up into a sprint. He didn't even have to think about which direction Lucien would have gone in. If the prince intended to merely return to his city, he would never have tricked Luke like that. Luke ran towards Rome, in the direction of his own near certain death.

xx

Luke didn't sleep at all the first night, though he had run through most of the day, slowing his pace only when his already compromised body was near breaking point, pausing only to drink from streams or snatch handfuls of forage to replenish what calories he could.

He reached the first town by noon the next day, nearly a corpse on his feet. Although the physical needs of his body yearned for some proper food and drink, and though Lucien had not stolen the coin-purse Luke still had tied to his belt—meaning purchasing his own horse wasn't out of the question-Luke couldn't risk traveling any closer than the most distant periphery of the village. This would have been the first place to receive the arrest warrant from the abbess, and a ragged man with a longsword and chainmail wandering into town would have been asking to be captured.

Luke had briefly considered whether Lucien might have gotten captured on purpose, to secure guaranteed passage to the court of the Pope, in a way that would make it almost impossible for Luke to interfere. He recalled how Lucien had hesitated getting back on the horse when they'd nearly been apprehended back in the woods, which just bolstered the probability Lucien saw an advantage in being captured.

Which must mean that the prince was significantly convinced of his ability to accomplish what he wanted. Luke didn't believe the reason Lucien had given; that as a ruler he couldn't vanish into thin air, that he had an obligation to his throne even if it meant execution. Lucien would never throw away his life for a concept of duty that hollow. More likely, Lucien had calculated that King Philip of France would have received word of Lucien's arrest, and would be counting on the King's interference with the Church. In fact, the offense the Archbishop had committed against Prince Lawliet could be maneuvered into a political toe-hold for the French royalty… provided Lucien was able to talk his way out of the allegations made by the abbess, the Church might be forced to back off of Strasbourg as penance for insulting the prince. A huge victory for Lucien, worth gambling on.

It was clear that Lucien had been playing the long con, and it made Luke laugh bitterly. He had offered his life to serve Lucien, to get back his city, to bring about the noble world of lofty ideals that Lucien believed in. But it was apparent now that Lucien had never needed Luke for anything, he'd had it all figured out on his own.

Such a revelation should be searing, humiliating, enraging… but it came with the twin realization that the prince really had changed his mind about using Luke as a bargaining chip, which would have only helped Lucien's negotiations. If Lucien hadn't necessarily needed Luke, this whole situation was evidence that the prince had _wanted_ him. That his feelings had been utterly genuine.

Luke hardly realized he'd still been nursing the dregs of doubt, but the emotion that welled up inside him was proof that some part of him had still been scared it had all been one of Lucien's tricks, that their relationship had just been a complicated game.

The feeling could only be called love. Luke loved the prince so deeply.

His reluctant body accelerated, and he kept at a jog until the town was far behind him. Lucien might have advantages in being captured, but Luke did not share these; he would need to be free to gather his own intelligence, and track Lucien's movements wherever possible. And if Lucien was making the journey on his own, matters were even more urgent; there were no guarantees Luke would ever be able to catch up with a solo, mounted traveler.

He prayed that he would be able to tell Lucien how much he loved him, even just once, in person.

xx

Luke cursed loudly as he barked his shin off a sharp rock, having stumbled on some loose gravel. The pain was enough to wake him up a little, if only for a few minutes. He stared blearily at the indistinct pastures of swaying grass, dotted with cypress trees that were beginning to look identical. Sometimes doubting he was making any progress at all, Luke had to use the receding mountains to orient himself.

He had never reached this level of physical weariness before, his uncharacteristic clumsiness and disorientation was only the surface. Though the sun had risen and set six times since Luke had last seen Lucien, time had long since ceased to have meaning to the exhausted knight, other than offering the perpetual dread of a diminishing countdown. After the first sleepless night, he'd been forced to stop for two or three hours of sleep for every approximate eight hours of walking or jogging; just enough to stave off the worst of the delirium but doing his battered body little else. The havoc wreaked on his internal clock was extreme, and if not for the celestial movements, he would have sworn it had only been one long day… or perhaps an entire year.

He had decided to make way to Pisa, a bustling coastal city ten times the size of the small towns he had avoided thus far. Pisa would be busy enough to afford him a degree of anonymity, and it would finally be safe enough to purchase his own horse. It also made a likely stop-over for those on their way to Rome, and the knight would be able to start making inquiries after Lucien.

But Pisa was also threatening, in a way. It was the second last major city before one reached the Papal States in which Rome was situated, meaning that, should Luke be unsuccessful in the port town, only Florence would remain as his best chance to reunite with Lucien. Luke had determined he would go all the way to the Pope, if need be; it was merely that upon entering the Papal States, Luke's capture was almost guaranteed, too many people would recognize him.

Pisa was far from a guarantee, too. Though less likely, Lucien (or his captors if he had allowed himself to be taken) could have just as easily used the route through Bologna, 200 miles to the east, in which case Luke wouldn't have a prayer of finding any useful information no matter how he inquired around Pisa.

Luke's ability to panic had burned itself to the wick days ago, replaced by a numb, automaton focus on covering as much distance as quickly as possible. But as he robotically placed one foot in front of the other, his brain examined and re-examined the threadbare ruminations and deductions that remained unchanged since his solitary journey had begun. He couldn't afford any mistakes, and he went over his logic again and again until it had morphed into an incantation to bring Lucien back to him. A solid night's sleep might have offered fresh perspective or sharper intellect, but he couldn't afford that either.

And so, Luke trudged on.

xx

Day darkened to night, night dissipated into day. There were times that Luke was positive the emerald ribbons of grass were whispering to him as warm breezes blew over field after field of interminable green. He had been forced to sleep more often, though the difference between consciousness and unconsciousness was maddeningly blurry.

The eighth day was just like the ninth, which was no different from the tenth or eleventh.

Luke often wondered if he wasn't already insane, or, failing that, if the fall from the horse had actually killed him and his spirit was wandering the verdant plains of purgatory.

xx

It was just after noon on the fourteenth day that the glittering Ligurian Sea came into view, sun-spangled and expansive. Luke was very familiar with the city of Pisa, nestled against the cerulean waters, and had often visited its massive cathedral. Construction on the bell-tower was still ongoing, and though it was already proving to be an architectural wonder, the knight had no way of knowing that this bell-tower with a weak foundation would still be famously leaning 700 years in the future. However, it would be the city taverns and inns that would attract much more of Luke's attention this visit.

The two weeks of hellish solitude had almost been enough to undo the knight, but the sensation of having finally reached a destination was enough of a tether to keep Luke grounded. He ignored the creeping suspicions that he was entering the city as a ghost and made a concrete plan: after buying clean clothes and visiting a barber, Luke would make his rounds of the accommodations and hope for news of the prince. With chagrin he realized that a bath and new outfit would do nothing to conceal the ragged, skeletal form of his body. He'd always been lithe and trim, but the weeks of little food and less sleep and maniacal walking had reduced his weight by about twenty pounds. His feet were a raw mass of blisters, and his once beautiful skin was chalky and rough. It was no small source of distress to imagine what Lucien would think if he ever laid eyes on the haggard ghoul Luke felt he'd become.

The flames of the streetlamps were being lit by the time Luke had heaved his bones into the city. In a world full of beggars, eccentric travelers and lepers, Luke realized he must look especially horrifying when even the desensitized city folk shied away from him, providing a wide berth. The avoidance was all the more poignant when contrasted with all of his memories of visiting Pisa and living in Italy; he had been adored and cheered on, and mounted on his steed with the proud red Templar cross emblazoned on his snowy tunic, he would have been trailing rapt, deferential onlookers, curious to see what the handsome knight was doing, eager to bow when he looked their way. It seemed his downfall could not be more complete.

Though it felt agonizingly like wasted time, Luke headed to the public baths first. He needed to be less monstrous if he wanted to have a chance to make the citizenry comfortable enough with him to answer his questions.

Luke had to be awoken by a hesitant bath attendant, having fallen asleep soon after immersion into the hot mineral waters. It was the first pause in the otherwise unrelenting physical and emotional agony of the past weeks, and his collapse was total. Luckily, the attendant seemed sympathetic, and assisted the knight in booking the much-needed services of a barber, where his fetid hair was cut and refreshed with fragrant oils, and the first beard he'd ever let grow was hacked away. Washed and clean-shaven, Luke could catch glimpses of the old him in the polished looking glass, though his prior physical beauty was still hard-pressed to bloom amongst the crags of his pronounced bones.

Having caught the clothing merchant just before his store closed, Luke visited the first tavern in a convincing enough state of normalcy that his entrance and appearance drew no special attention. To his great advantage, he now looked like any other merchant, or, perhaps with his sword at his hip, a regular mercenary, of which plenty were always hanging about looking for work.

Luke embraced this pseudo-identity as he questioned the bar-hand that placed a full plate of warm food and tepid mug of beer on the table in front of him. His starvation was such that Luke's speech was nearly unintelligible through his slaver, but even this helped disguise the knight as anything other than the brilliant intellectual he'd been raised as.

"We got word of the wanted men, aye," the bar-hand explained, clearly assuming that Luke was yet another man wanting to get in on the bounty. "Haven't heard anythin' beyond that, though. There were whispers in Milan that one of 'em might have stayed there, but yer best bet is to go to Germany like the others. That's probably where they've headed, says I."

"Milan?" Luke forcibly tore his eyes away from the glistening leg of turkey, lying so enticingly on his plate, begging to be in Luke's belly.

"Just rumours though, methinks," the man reiterated, giving a grateful wink at the extra coin Luke placed in his hand as thanks.

Ravenous, Luke devoured the food with such speed, his tortured stomach revolted with waves of nausea, certainly dampening any satisfaction at this first real meal. Ignoring the sick feeling and nursing the swill the tavern marketed as ale, Luke made his rounds of the room, insinuating himself into various conversations, the results of which varied little and amounted to nothing. The only thing to be grateful for was that Luke's mercenary character seemed so authentic that no one batted even a single eyelash in suspicion. He seemed free to be able to question and snoop as much as he wanted, with everyone figuring he was one of the hunters and not the hunted.

Now that he'd been able to discern the general background of the situation (no one had heard news of the prince's capture and everyone was wrongly asserting the two fugitives had escaped into Germany), Luke began to risk more pointed questions.

"Any chance you recall seeing a thin man, black hair, and big, black eyes? He would have come across as… strange."

Luke was questioning the owner of the seventh inn he'd investigated, a man ready to talk once he'd seen that he'd be compensated for it. It was one of the last such establishments in the city, and Luke estimated he'd have one, maybe two more places to look into before he exhausted his options. In the back of his mind, he was growing increasingly worried that Lucien had indeed gone through Bologna, or, most alarmingly, had decided to avoid all major cities and towns all together.

"Strange how?" The burly man asked while wiping down tankards with an old rag.

"He may have had a peculiar way of sitting, chewed on his thumb a lot, never gripped things properly, he likes to pinch them like this…" Luke saw the skeptical look in the owner's eyes as he demonstrated holding something between thumb and forefinger. "And… he would have probably requested only sweets to eat, no normal food."

Incredibly, at that last cue, recognition lit up the man's face.

"Now that you mention it, a fellow like that did pass through here—"

"When?" Luke interrupted, too eagerly, and with superhuman restraint, mastered himself and allowed the tavern owner to continue.

"Hmm, let's see… Two days past now, I think it was. Very strange fellow, like you said. Black hair, black eyes, sort of creepy. Oh, beggin' your pardon, provided this man is a friend o' yours…?"

"No, he owes me something," Luke clarified readily, having already constructed a convincing cover story that would easily explain why he was so excitedly searching for someone specific without arousing suspicion.

"Lots o' money?" The priorities of the man were obvious.

"…Something like that," Luke replied with a half-smile. The man took the hint and refrained from prying further.

"He was lookin' for that bell-tower, you know, the one they're buildin'. Ate only _maritozzi_ cream puffs," the owner elaborated as he picked up another mug to clean.

 _How like Lucien_ , Luke thought to himself, elated. The prince would have been interested in seeing the architectural marvel, even unfinished, while he was here. Luke's heart simultaneously leapt and clenched; he felt so near to Lucien, filled with the first substantial hope he'd felt since being left in the forest… but two days was enough time for Lucien to already be in Florence, if he was riding his horse hard.

"My good man," Luke extracted a large gold coin from his purse and pressed it into the surprised bartender's hand, "you have been of immense help. I thank you."

Luke was turning to leave when the man, warmed by Luke's apparent generosity, called out to him.

"I hope you get what yer owed! You've got a friend in me, any time ya need anythin'."

About to depart with just a smile over his shoulder, Luke stopped and reconsidered, turning back to his new 'friend.'

"Actually, there is one more thing."

xx

The wind was singing in his ears as Luke raced across the night-time countryside. The tavern owner may as well have been an angel from heaven, so miraculous was the help he'd given the knight. He'd even been able to help him purchase a fine, strong horse, despite the late hour. Luke had been able to leave Pisa mounted and equipped with provisions just after the bells had tolled midnight, though he had but a few coins rattling together in his deflated coin purse.

Renewed with hope and exhilarated by the fact that he'd most likely found Lucien's trail, Luke and his incredible horse made superhuman time that night, resting only near daybreak. Too apprehensive and excited to sleep, Luke spent the break brushing and caring for his obliging mount and eating some of his provisions, rewarding the animal with one of his apples. If the horse was capable of keeping even three-quarters of that pace throughout the day, Luke would reach Florence by nightfall.

xx

The curious ellipse shape of the walled city of Florence was especially pronounced from the peaks of the grassy hills surrounding it. The Cathedral of Florence was still in its infancy, the construction looking more like rubble than an emerging structure. Still, its prominent placement in the middle of the city demarcated its importance; though one could make an argument that banks were the true heart of Florence.

The journey had been a relatively pleasant one, through the brilliant green sloping hillsides characteristic of the state of Tuscany. After gentle rain showers late that morning, the sun was rushing eagerly to warm the grasses and trees, and petrichor suffused the sweet air.

At odds with these pastoral beauties and the awe-inspiring city of Florence approaching, Lucien's thoughts were dark, his mood darker.

He'd allowed himself to be caught up in the circular, pointless debate of whether he'd done—was doing—the right thing. It was all moot, now; that moment that he'd pressed a gentle kiss to the sleeping knight's brow was the last he would ever see of his lover. It was too easy to imagine the other's reaction upon waking, seeing he'd been deceived after all. Lucien had always maintained that he preferred to speak truthfully, unless there was a strategic advantage in lying. He wished dearly that he'd been able to afford Luke the dignity of choice, but, perhaps very selfishly, he'd determined it best to steer their destinies single-handedly.

Surprisingly, Lucien had come to cherish one lonely, unlikely dream as the perfect outcome of this entire scheme. The prince deduced there was a less than 10% chance Luke would decide to follow him, given that Lucien had stolen their only horse and had declared his intention to head to the one place most dangerous to Luke at the moment. Counting on Luke's intelligence and self-preservation instincts prevailing, Lucien figured that the man might be busy cooking up a way to safely reunite… if the betrayed knight hadn't (rightfully) forsaken the duplicitous prince altogether.

Lucien was hoping, against his better judgement and again, very selfishly, that Luke might be waiting for him in Strasbourg.

Many pieces, and arguably ones much more important, would need to fall into place first (i.e. the most essential being that Lucien successfully avoided execution) but Lucien permitted this singular frivolity nonetheless. The alternative was still a little too heavy to bear, though the prince was nothing if not adept at keeping his emotions distanced and his logic cool and precise.

Though, illogically, it bothered him more than usual that the citizens of his city would never know or really care what their prince had had to sacrifice to preserve their liberties and way of life.

The ache in his back began to distract him, and he was eager to reach the city and stretch his legs. Stealing Luke's coin purse had felt too unforgivable on top of lying to him and abandoning him, so Lucien had made do with the meager currency he could earn from gambling at cards, barely enough to cover provisions. However, he'd hit it big in Pisa, a city big enough that there was no shortage of challengers determined to break Lucien's winning streak. He'd been forced to stop once the sentiment had changed and people had begun accusing him of cheating, but he'd earned enough for a brand-new saddle. Though infinitely better than riding bareback, the unbroken leather was hard and unyielding against his thin body.

His backache conjured memories, unbidden, of the nights Luke had spent sleeping on the floors of inns, aggravating his old war wound. And then, how he'd let Lucien massage him, his internal struggles so obvious by that stage. For the countless time on his solitary journey, Lucien thought about how he'd ruined Luke's life, only to discard him. He knew Luke would understand on an intellectual level, but as Lucien had discovered, matters of the heart were a different, uncontrollable species entirely.

 _I am sorry, Light_.

Offering this silent apology into the ether, Lucien bridled his thoughts, returning his attention to schemes and calculations involving the Church.

xx

He'd been a little too optimistic and instead of reaching Florence by nightfall, Luke had arrived in the town close to 4:00 a.m. the next day. Nothing would be open at that hour, and so, having reached his destination but forced to wait, Luke caught several hours' rest in an abandoned courtyard. He awoke to the scuffling sounds of a scavenger, who looked more like a wraith than a beggar. Shooing the creature away from where he was getting too close to Luke's horse, the knight gave into a pang of pity and flicked a minor coin into the air for the man to catch. Luke merely nodded in response to the hoarse, whispered blessings the wretch bestowed on him, deciding it was high time to scour the city for a certain French royal.

xx

Close up, the Cathedral construction site was incredibly fascinating; what had looked like ruins from a distance was, on closer inspection, a complicated mass of scaffolding and humongous chunks of pink, green and white marble being hewn by masons onsite. It reminded Lucien greatly of Strasbourg's own cathedral, still being built itself, though the Florence Cathedral would easily overshadow it upon completion. There were rumours this cathedral would have a huge dome, ambitiously engineered out of brick, to be the largest ever made. It was a shame that such work spanned multiple human lifetimes, and even if Lucien ever returned to Italy in the future, it was impossible he would ever witness its completion for himself. For though he was not a follower of what would be machinated within its walls, monuments like these were the ornaments of the human species.

xx

It was already noon. Luke tried to subdue his mounting agitation that time seemed to have accelerated to a maddening, impossible pace. He'd only cleared a third of the city's inns and taverns, Florence being even larger than Pisa.

Luke cast a glance at the flurry of work occurring to his right. He was passing by the construction site of the new Cathedral, on his way to the next business where he'd ask after Lucien. Astonishingly, notable progress had been made even in the mere months since he'd been here last, but it was but a fraction of the labour that still awaited before the monument would be finished. It might even be several hundred years before the Cathedral would be consecrated, ready to host its own Bishop.

It might as well have been a lifetime ago that he'd escorted the Archbishop. The Strasbourg Cathedral still had much of the intricate interior work to complete, but the exterior structure, save for the left spire, was largely in place, sufficient for the appointment of the Archbishop to oversee the rest. Luke dismissed further thoughts of the despicable man, whose hot temper had arguably brought all of this to bear.

Sparing the Cathedral no more of his attention, Luke urged his horse onward through the frenetic crowds of busy city folk.

xx

Lucien would allow himself the day in Florence, waiting until first light tomorrow to depart. It was the last major city before Rome, which meant roughly four or five days of rural traveling ahead if his cartography knowledge held, with little more than peasant villages in between. The horse needed rest before the long journey, where it may not see another public stable until their final destination. The poor creature had been put through the ringer, and Lucien figured he would give the beast to whichever Roman citizen had the biggest, lushest paddock the horse could finally retire to. Regardless of whether his plans failed or succeeded, he would not be needing the horse beyond Rome.

One luxury of a major city like Florence, was that there was always at least one confectionary in operation. The prince planned to walk until he found one such establishment, his stomach grumbling in anticipation of the sweets he could now afford thanks to his gambling windfall.

xx

Luke revised his searching plans for the day, expanding his targets beyond inns and taverns in which Lucien might be staying, and adding bakeries and sweets shops. He'd arrived too late in Pisa for any such stores to still be open, but Luke had until dark to explore Florence, when he planned on revisiting all the pubs and inns anyway, in case he'd missed Lucien on the first pass.

xx

A sign swung in the gentle wind, attached to a squat building with a terra cotta roof. The sign depicted cakes and bread, but the aroma of baked goods was advertisement enough. Lucien visibly perked at the scent, eager to finally be able to indulge. He was still several yards away, mouth watering, when the shop door opened, producing a sight that changed Lucien's life in an instant.

xx

Luke heaved a sigh. It was his second bakery, and, nothing. No hint of Lucien. Perhaps he'd ridden too hard, and beaten the prince here? Dread chilled the knight as he rapidly went through all his worst fears once more… maybe the Pisa tavern owner had been talking about someone else… maybe Lucien had decided to avoid Florence altogether… maybe he just hadn't found the right information and Lucien had been in fact been held prisoner, out of reach and on the way to Rome, this whole time.

As he untied the horse from the fence where he'd hobbled it, his skin prickled. The unmistakable sense of being watched. He snapped his head around, hoping to catch the culprit in the act, but he saw nothing significant. After a few more moments of scanning his surroundings, he discarded his preoccupations and resumed his search.

xx

Periodically, Luke would look around, as if he knew he was being observed. Lucien was careful to stay out of sight while he followed the knight, having long ago confirmed that the skinny man in a muted grey doublet was indeed who he thought he was. It was nearly beyond belief; that the less than 10% chance had manifested, Luke had followed him, found him. Against all odds, they had been reunited, impossibly finding each other as if Fate herself had woven them together. Well, technically, Lucien had found Luke, but the prince knew it was only a matter of time before he revealed himself.

The physical state of Luke was heartbreaking. He'd lost so much weight, even to one who so loved his face he was almost unrecognizable on first glance. Lucien didn't know how it had been possible, and he was devastated when he contemplated the lengths that Luke must have pushed himself to in order to catch up with him like this.

He really didn't want to show himself to Luke. All logic screamed against it. He had gotten this far, perpetrated unforgivable lies to do so. The damage was done. Reuniting with Luke would only mean that the knight would interfere again, or much worse, would follow Lucien all the way to Rome, regardless of the consequences.

But, even more than his evident physical depletion, the look in Luke's eyes made it such that even Lucien's strength of will was insufficient. Against all rationality, Lucien would do what he had to in order to see that shattered expression clear from Luke's face.

xx

Luke had returned to the abandoned courtyard, encouraging his horse to drink from an old cistern, eating a few mouthfuls of a late lunch himself.

He sat at the base of an old tree, eyes closed as he made a mental map of the expanse of Florence, noting where he'd visited, where he had yet to look, and what locations he should return to once regular shop hours ended and nightlife commenced.

 _Cursed wretch_ , Luke thought as a scuffling sound momentarily distracted him. He'd made a mistake giving alms to that beggar from before, the man was probably the one who'd been tailing him, either hoping for another handout or perhaps even thinking to steal Luke's money when the knight's guard was down.

"Away with you," Luke growled, warning the scavenger he knew of his presence, despite his closed eyes.

When he could hear that the scuffling steps were still approaching instead of departing, Luke's irritation flared and he readied to face the beggar and scare him off for good.

But when his eyes opened, he couldn't help but let out a small cry; his sight was so cruel as to deceive him with the illusion of what he wanted most.

Disbelieving, Luke rubbed his eyes, fearing but knowing the mirage would disappear…

…but it didn't. Lucien remained there, in front of him, even speaking.

"Light found me."

xx


	11. The End

Those moments were some of the most tumultuous Luke could ever recall experiencing. The knife-edge anticipation before a battle, the precarious violence of an ambush… waiting now to see if Lucien would keep his word was a deeper, more ambiguous anguish than waiting on the outcome of any mortal danger. Because this was almost totally out of Luke's control.

The room was permeated with the indistinct but specific scent of laundered linens. The mattress was stuffed with new straw, fresh and well-cared for. There was even a furniture set—a basic writing desk and wooden chair. The inn was a very nice one, and the window looked out onto an inner courtyard that featured a kaleidoscopic, well-tended garden of incredible colours and variety, a true beauty.

It may as well have been a pile of garbage for the attention it pulled from the knight. Everything was irrelevant beyond the minutes passing, stretching into an unmanageable, interminable black hole of waiting.

The two men had hardly exchanged words after reuniting; the wrong person spotting them together could still prove fatal. They had agreed they needed somewhere private to speak, but unable to rent a room as a pair, as this too would arouse suspicion, no sooner had he found him, Luke was forced to separate from Lucien once more. All he'd had were the prince's assurances that they would talk and that he wouldn't use this as a trick to evade Luke again.

Lucien would rent a room, and Luke would follow ten minutes later, taking out separate accommodations as if they strangers to each other. In thirty minutes, Lucien would stroll into the courtyard, looking at the windows to determine which room was Luke's, and the pair would finally meet. Talk.

Over and over, like he was reciting his rosary, Luke told himself that if Lucien was just going to slip away again, the prince would have had no reason to approach him in the first place. Lucien had found him, not the other way around. And so it became the traumatized knight's obsessive incantation: _he'll come, then we'll talk. He'll come, then we'll talk_. He felt too crazed to create coherent thoughts beyond this promise to himself.

Then… Finally.

Lucien appeared in the courtyard below, simultaneously soothing and shredding Luke's embattled heart. The knight had never been pitched to this level of hysteria before, and it was only once the prince looked upwards, made eye contact with him, that Luke felt capable of affecting calmness. His impulse was to fly off the handle, even sob or scream; ratcheted up in intensity due to the physical and mental torment he'd endured over the past weeks, scraping him near-hollow. But he refused to ruin this reunion with maudlin blubbering or enraged paroxysms.

Lucien disappeared from view, re-entering the inn.

A few meted breaths, restrained, and meant to level Luke's head. Then, a soft knock on the door.

Luke's steps were even and deliberate as he approached, the handle in his hand for an extra moment while he fortified himself for whatever came next.

Standing there, scratching the back of his right leg with his left foot, Lucien looked pretty much the same as ever. Luke would have furiously declared that Lucien looked downright _unbothered_ but for catching a glimmer in the prince's black eyes, indescribable except for the fact that it instantly caused a well of affectionate sorrow within Luke's own breast.

Luke's mouth opened, but the words were silent ghosts. He closed it and opened it again, then closed it at last. He stared at Lucien, at a loss.

Suddenly, Lucien surged forward, gripping at the knight in a clinging embrace, burying his face into Luke's chest where he surely must be able to hear the warhammer of Luke's heart against his ribs.

Slowly, as if terrified of dispelling a wonderful dream, Luke's arms encircled Lucien, his lungs releasing a shaky exhalation suffused with relief. Luke's eyes were burning. Lucien was really here, was real and in his arms once more. Luke swore that only death would sunder them ever again.

"I wanted Light to save himself," Lucien murmured into Luke's shirt.

Luke took a beat to consider these words before nodding and pressing a kiss into Lucien's hair, and then he gently extricated himself from the hug, moving to close the still-open door, locking it carefully.

It was all too much—there were too many words, too many questions that demanded answers, too many declarations. They all crowded each other out, until the narrow funnel of language all at once became insufficient, discarded all together.

Luke took Lucien's face in both his hands, staring searchingly into his eyes before kissing the royal abruptly. Lucien hands came to hang on Luke's wrists, before ascending to the knight's neck and hair, the smaller man's body remaining receptive, even as myriad emotions passed through the physical contact of their kisses. Luke's love, his anger, his betrayal, his mourning, his lust, his commitment, his disappointment. Lucien seemed to understand it all, and reciprocated with his own, though his body language was dominated by the desire to be forgiven.

There was no hesitation now, no shyness or shame. Luke was overcome by the desire to be bound physically in the same way they were soulbound to each other. And if Lucien's eager yielding was anything to go by, he wanted it as well.

The two men found the bed, Luke pressing Lucien to sit down on the edge of the mattress before unabashedly removing Lucien's shirt and then his own. The knight noticed an unreadable blankness in Lucien's eyes as the other took in his new, shrunken body; the lanky limbs, the obvious ribs.

Later. They could talk about all that stuff, later.

Pinning Lucien back against the sheets, Luke stooped to taste his lover's skin, tongue roiling across the curve of Lucien's neck, across his small pink nipples, down across the white flesh of the prince's stomach. Lucien offered no resistance as Luke's fingers unlaced the front of his pants, where Luke began an imitation of the intimacy he'd shared with Lucien on their last night together, every act burned permanently in his memory. Seemingly shocked at first, Lucien soon animated, gripping fistfuls of Luke's hair and releasing small, blissful noises that might as well have been screams of passion, coming from him. It was hardly any time at all before Lucien's body tensed and arched, and he burst in Luke's mouth.

Luke recovered like a man possessed. There was a drunken urgency to his actions, and though some small part of him worried that he was rushing or scaring Lucien, the knight could find no sign of such anywhere in Lucien's hooded eyes or heaving body. He took off his pants after completely removing Lucien's, already hot and too hard. This feeling was almost painful.

Both men could sense what was coming next, and Lucien slowly parted his legs, pulling Luke down for a kiss. At length, Luke lifted his head, clouds of his warm breath billowing across Lucien's pink cheeks. He had never seen the prince more beautiful, more desirable. He told him so.

"You're so beautiful." Luke nuzzled into the crook of Lucien's neck, bestowing more kisses there.

Surprise sharpened the prince's heady, clouded eyes, before they closed again as the lovers kissed once more.

"Light…" came the hushed, hoarse invitation, after they had broken apart again.

Luke understood the unsaid.

"Can I…?"

Lucien responded by parting his legs even wider, causing contact between the most private places of their bodies. Luke inhaled sharply as stars shimmered behind his eyes, bracing himself to last for what would come next. Beginning to needle through his feeling of intoxication was that familiar self-doubt… He only knew the basics of what came next, and began to worry his inexperience would ruin the moment. Gathering his courage, he held himself, lowering until he felt his entrance. After another deep breath, he pushed, gently, but with commitment.

He felt very little give, and even a little pain. The friction between their dry skin was too much. Doubtful, he pressed again, but a sound from Lucien made him instantly withdraw.

"It hurts?" Luke checked, mortified, at a loss.

"It is fine," Lucien lied.

Luke was snapped from his drunken spell completely, now concerned.

"I won't do it if it hurts you."

Lucien just reiterated it was fine.

"It can't be. It feels… too tight. I'm… I must be doing something wrong. Lucien, you know I don't know…"

Expecting Lucien's ardour to either cool completely or for the prince to repeat uselessly that it was all fine, Luke was surprised when the smaller man rose on his elbows, looking at him squarely.

"Then let us take the time to know."

Having thusly assured Luke, the prince moved to recline fully on the bed, waiting expectantly for his lover to join him. A different kind of drunkenness was overtaking the knight now, the kind that came with the freedom and complete intimacy with another human being. But it allowed room for clearer thinking, and soon Luke had returned to the height of arousal. To ease the friction and tightness, Luke thought to lick his fingers, entering Lucien in this smaller way first… the heat in Lucien's face was so bewitching that Luke became fixated on this exploration, nearly forgetting his ultimate goal of union until Lucien grasped at his wrist, withdrawing Luke's fingers suddenly.

"Light," came the ragged command, and Luke was ablaze.

He spit into his hand, and for the first time, touched himself sexually. The hard, hot flesh felt both unnatural and the most natural, simultaneously. It was too easy to see why the Church had declared this level of pleasure as sinful. It was consuming and inebriating, and Luke suddenly wanted nothing more than total immersion in this pleasure with Lucien for the rest of his days.

Luke looked down at Lucien, who, ready, rolled onto his stomach and waited. Instinctively, Luke knew it would work this time, and the fibrillating of his heart at the thought of being inside Lucien was so intense he swayed dizzily. In the moment he spent pressing down and finding Lucien, he had the silly thought that perhaps the weeks of hell were worth it, if they were to culminate in paradise like this.

Luke pressed, and entered.

Warmth permeated his body, surging and billowing as he went deeper and deeper; it took superhuman restraint but he managed to wait each time for Lucien's body to relax around him before going further. Finally, they were joined, totally.

Luke near-collapsed on top of Lucien, bracing himself with one arm and holding the prince tightly against him with the other.

"It feels amazing," he sighed in Lucien's ear, who responded by pressing harder into Luke's body, causing the knight's eyes to roll back into his head and a low moan to fall from his lips. He both dreaded and exalted at the thought of beginning to move, but the craving was too intense to consider denying.

He'd somehow retained the presence of mind to check the first couple times he'd rocked in and out, ensuring that he wasn't hurting Lucien in any way, until it seemed that Lucien lost patience with the tentative pussyfooting, lowering from all fours to stretch out his arms and press his face into the mattress, increasing the intensity of his arch against Luke. It was enough that Luke cut the last, flimsy thread of self-control he'd been clinging to, and surrendered.

He thrust into Lucien in earnest, rapidly gaining momentum and uttering sounds and moans that seemed to rise from the depths of his abdomen. They paused only briefly to let Lucien flip back over, allowing them to kiss the sounds spilling from each other's mouths. Luke could feel the heat from Lucien's palms all over his sweat-slicked body, the wetness from where Lucien's tongue was running against his neck. When he felt a sharp, sweet pain near his collarbone and he realized Lucien was biting him, Luke lasted only a couple more strokes before an earth-shattering climax pulverized him, offering no warning. He cried out too loudly and his whole body shook, wave after wave surging out of him as he still felt the constrictions and releases of Lucien's body around him.

As he feebly withdrew so he could crumple on the mattress beside Lucien, only one thing seemed insufficiently expressed, though their physical union had seemed to address almost all else that words would have spent hours communicating.

"Lucien," Luke panted, "I love you."

xx

How naïve.

How naïve could one person possibly be?

The glow from his first sexual intercourse had darkened nearly as soon as it had come. Luke hadn't said the words with an expectation he'd hear them back, until he didn't. It had only taken a few moments of Lucien's pained, pointed silence that Luke had dressed hastily and fled from the room unthinking, brushing off Lucien's protests, saying he'd go get them some food.

Now as he stepped out into the cobbled streets of Florence, he was hit with a thunderclap of realization: Lucien might leave him again, he might use Luke's absence to disappear into the cities of Italy once more. Loved or unloved, it was suddenly irrelevant to Luke. The thought that it might end there was unendurable, even though Luke had previously begged any sympathetic gods only for the chance to merely tell Lucien he loved him, promising he would be satisfied.

Dashing back up the stairs, Luke nearly broke down the door when the fumbling lock refused to open. This insanity was unhelpful, and embarrassing. He had been naïve to think that sex could be the discussion they'd needed to have. Now the unsaid words between them hung like the heavy clouds of an impending hurricane.

On first glance, the room appeared empty, causing Luke's heart to plummet, but only because Lucien's small, naked frame was mostly hidden amongst the tangled blankets. But when he raised his raven head to observe the source of the ruckus, Luke rushed over to the bed, seizing Lucien into his arms.

It was a small fact, but that Lucien had made absolutely no move to leave went a long way to soothe the knight's paranoia.

"I will not leave Light again," Lucien spoke, already having deduced the reason for Luke's strangeness.

"Thank God," Luke said out of habit, eyes burning again. "Thank God you're still here."

There was a heavy silence before the prince's voice came again. "God has nothing to do with it. I will not betray Light again… out of love."

Though he didn't want them to, Luke's eyes welled. "…What?"

"I love you," Lucien told him.

It was more than the knight could take. Hot tears plopped into Lucien's black hair, Luke insensible to the fact that he was nearly crushing Lucien for how hard he was holding him. But the prince let himself be crushed without complaint, waiting for Luke to release some emotion before explaining.

"I must stop making decisions for Light," Lucien elaborated. "I am deeply sorry for doing so. Light must understand this was all motivated by love. I did not answer because I do not want Light to love me and to know I love him, because I want Light to be free of me and live."

"That's really why you said nothing? And why you left before?" Luke choked out, sniffling. He finally released his vice grip on his lover, and let Lucien sit up to face him.

"Of course," Lucien replied matter-of-factly. "What other possible reason could there have been?"

"Nothing that truly made sense," Luke admitted, "but I thought it meant you didn't care… enough. You _tricked_ me. You lied to me."

Lucien could not help but notice how child-like Luke looked in that moment, injured, abandoned, beseeching. It hurt his heart. He reached out slender fingers to wipe at the glistening tracks on the knight's cheeks.

"Forgive me, please."

Luke wanted to immediately cave in, offer his instant forgiveness and begin kissing Lucien, maybe they could even make love once more. But he pushed these facile notions aside, and this time wielded weaponized silence against his lover.

"What does Light need from me to forgive me? Or is forgiveness impossible?"

More silence, as Luke carefully considered his conditions, if he had them at all.

"Stop making decisions for me," he said at last. Lucien seemed ready to respond but Luke held up a hand, asking for more chance to share his thoughts. "I have nothing left. The life I've lived thus far is totally destroyed, I don't have a reputation, a home, anything. But I felt free, in that one day after the nunnery, even though I still have deep grief over the loss of everything I knew. And I wanted to use that freedom to live by your side, to realize your goals if mine have so spectacularly failed. You took that away from me. You want me to live, but living without freedom is torture. You left me in a prison."

Lucien's eyes fell down to where his hands were curled against the sheets.

"Well, at least, you tried to," Luke said with the sliver of a smile. He reached out for one of those pale hands. "You let me find you. I think it nearly killed me, but I have you again. Please let me keep this freedom, the dignity, to live, or die, how I want."

Luke was startled when Lucien let himself fall forward into his chest, but he caught him and held him there. The knight understood that this was a release of Lucien's own emotion, that the stoicism and blankness of the other had never meant a lack of feeling. Lucien's regret was emanating from him as clearly as if he had been weeping.

"If you let me have that," Luke murmured, kissing Lucien's head again, "then I forgive you. Completely."

xx

It was twilight when Luke woke from the light nap he'd be drowsing in, having fallen asleep accidentally with Lucien in his arms after they'd joined once more. Lucien had gone on top this time, allowing Luke even deeper than before and eliciting more brand-new sensations that had left Luke punchdrunk and incoherent.

As ever, Lucien was already awake, presumably not having slept at all, when Luke opened his eyes.

"Hungry?" Luke asked thickly, thinking of his own growling stomach, when Lucien had looked over after noticing he was awake.

"Yes," The prince answered uncharacteristically readily.

"I'll see if they have _maritozzi_ cream puffs here," Luke smiled, then lazily began to dress. "And I'll ask for a fresh water basin and a wash cloth."

Luke was unsure if he'd ever witnessed anything more wonderful than his naked, messy lover entwined in their bedsheets. It was a sight he was loath to leave, but he was no longer afraid Lucien would abandon him again. Their trust had been restored.

Downstairs in the tavern portion of the inn, Luke placed his orders with specific instructions to leave the items outside the door. This inn regretfully did not have maritozzi, but the keeper suggested a glazed honey nut loaf instead, and Luke was confident it sounded sweet enough to satisfy Lucien's appetites.

Once Lucien had bathed and dressed and their food had arrived and been eaten, the two settled in to begin their discussions in earnest.

"So," Luke was sitting on the bed with his back against the wall, speaking to where Lucien was crouched by the headboard, piling uneaten pieces of nut on top of each other on his empty plate. "You obviously still intend to head to Rome, and we agree you're not going to stop me from coming with you. So can you finally explain to me what your whole plan is? I want to help."

The nut tower tottered, and fell. Lucien looked up at Luke, inserting the tip of his thumb into his mouth.

"It is rather simple," Lucien explained willingly. "There is a 67% chance that the King of France will intercede on my behalf and insist I be reinstated on Strasbourg's throne, contingent on my appearing formally and readily before the Pope. I would put the King in an untenable position if I kept behaving like a fugitive."

Luke chuckled, an empty sound. "67% chance? And what about the 33% remainder? Those aren't great odds, when you're talking about your life hanging in the balance. I'm surprised you're comfortable with that much risk."

There was a momentary hesitation, a hitch in Lucien's body language, small enough it would have never been noticed by anyone other than Luke.

"What is it," Luke less-asked-than-insisted.

Reticent silence, which Luke met with a more stubborn, more immovable silence (and a glare).

"The 33% was originally much lower," Lucien ceded.

Luke put the pieces together rather quickly. "You mean, when you intended to use me as a bargaining chip?"

"Yes," Lucien confirmed, now less abashed. There was no point in dancing around it when Luke was too smart. "I was planning on offering Light as leverage, which would have brought my chances of success up to approximately 89%. In fact, Light's abbess brought the probability up to 98%, as her accusations would have provided second-party support of the crimes I would have told the Pope that Light committed. I would have been rewarded for turning in a wanted criminal."

Undeservingly, Lucien was worried that Luke would get angry, and they would have to weather one of his rages before they could continue making a plan. But Luke sat quietly, pensively, holding his chin between his index and thumb.

"I don't want to be sacrificed, but there has to be a way to increase your chances. What if we went back to Strasbourg, appealed to your King from there, and avoided the Pope altogether? Doesn't the risk level go down if the Pope can't merely have you arrested on the spot if you rub him the wrong way? And trust me, he's the type to have you arrested if you rub him the wrong way. He's a petty, ill-tempered fool."

"I had considered this, however I felt that time was of the essence, also thanks to Light's abbess. I wanted to get to Rome either around the same time, or, ideally, before the abbess' allegations reach the King, as I think it unwise to give King Phillip any reason to believe I _am_ actually a fugitive leaving my royal duties derelict; it is advantageous for His Majesty to find his own replacement for me as well. And though I had decided long before the abbey that I refuse to use Light as leverage, Light was not in a position to abandon his own duties and travel back to Strasbourg with me until the abbess removed choice in the matter."

It was all laid out so tidily. Luke was astounded when he realized the real advantages that Lucien had sacrificed, all for his sake.

"How could you let kind of advantage go?" Luke asked, even though it was starkly foolish to be asking why Lucien hadn't willingly sacrificed him. "You are facing such increased risk to your life, to your kingdom, because you won't use me. I would have used me, in your position."

And it was true. Old Luke, Knight Captain of the Templars, would have sacrificed human life if it meant a surer chance the greater good would prevail. No, in fact, he _had_ done that.

But a different man, just Luke, was the one sitting on the bed, hearing the prince's answer now.

"Because of love," Lucien said so flatly that any corny romanticism was lost.

Luke paused, reveling in those words, before speaking hastily. "How can I help you then? There must be some way I can—"

"Absolutely not," Lucien cut in, decisive. "Under no circumstances will Light enter the court of the Pope. I will not stop Light from entering Rome, as I believe Light will refuse my request to stay out of the city despite—"

"Then what do you want me to do, sit like a useless, brainless doll while you gamble with your life?"

"No," Lucien's voice had noticeably gentled, avoiding a fight. "No. I want Light to leave me at the border of Rome, then return to Strasbourg where he will await my arrival."

Even Lucien could not keep the smile from quirking his lips as he watched his companion stammer and stutter, blushing and glowing at the implications.

 _Yes,_ Lucien thought. _I would share my life with you._ _Provided we both survive and have lives to live_.

Dozens of premature questions jostled at Luke, demanding attention, but all they did was spur him to imagine what that future looked like. Lucien would allow him to be by his side, forever. If they could get through this, there would be nothing stopping them from creating the world of their vision, side by side.

"Okay," Luke breathed, surprising the both of them. Lucien had clearly not expected him to capitulate so easily, but when faced with the loss of that bright future together, the last thing Luke wanted to do was throw his life away. And, he persuaded himself, Lucien was so intelligent and cunning that even if things went sour, he'd figure out a way to make his chances better than 67%.

"Okay?" Lucien echoed warily.

"Yes, okay," Luke grinned, shuffling over to lie down beside where Lucien was hunched. He looked up at his lover. "We'll get your city back, Prince Lawliet. And I want to be there to see it happen, with my own eyes."

Lucien's black gaze was downcast to meet Luke's shining amber eyes. He displayed another rare smile, allowing himself to believe, at least for the moment, that it would really be that easy.

xx

The days that followed were paradoxically some of the happiest spent by either man. Though they had to exercise great care not to be seen as associated in public, their trysts behind locked doors brought them together, two souls and two fates joyfully entwined. Luke, ever the quick study, soon became a talented lover, and Lucien was always ready with affection for the knight's body; to cherish the old war wounds long turned into white scars, and to appreciate the signs of recovery from its recent trials. Proper eating, sleep, and the renewed hope that he and Lucien would share a life together had revitalized Luke's haggard, stripped form. Smooth slopes of muscles returned to his torso, his russet hair regained its lustre, and Luke's lively, clever eyes gazed out from planes of healthy, vibrant skin.

xx

Luke was approaching a ramshackle horse shed outside the ruins of farmhouse that had burnt down long ago. He'd stayed about half a mile behind Lucien, always within eyesight, but not close enough to be thought to be together. He'd waited about twenty minutes, making various pretexts of refitting his horse's tack and rearranging his luggage while ensuring no one was watching or following, before he'd headed to the shed where Lucien had decided to make their night-time camp. The territory was intimately familiar to Luke; they were about half a day from Rome, now.

Luke missed the ability to travel with Lucien by his side, debating mathematical theorems, exchanging opinions on science, discussing the heroes and parables of the Classics. Thrilled just by getting to know each other better. It was funny to think how quickly their time together had passed, but Luke was now able to remind himself that an entire lifetime of that lay ahead of him. They just had to be patient and careful, for now.

The rickety shed was ironically suffused with the luxuriant scent of gardenia shrubs blooming just outside. The white flowers were beautiful enough under the moonlight that they captured Luke's attention for an extra moment; some of the flowers had opened completely, but Luke was fascinated by the ones that were only half unfurled. There was something about the purity of the white, the architectural symmetry of the blossoms, that made these flowers seem like a grand emblem of fate. He considered plucking one, even discussing the species with Lucien (who later on informed him that, despite the similarity of their fragrances, jasmine and gardenia flowers came from different genera) but reconsidered. Something that perfect should be let well enough alone.

Ducking under the creeper vines that had grown into a natural curtain on the horse shed, Luke smiled. Lucien had already set up the basics of their rudimentary camp, and was reading a philosophical folio by the light of several candles he'd balanced on the ground.

They'd had a wonderful last night in the village of Rieti; Lucien had enticed some locals into another gambling match, and Luke had joined on later, as if he were a stranger. It hadn't been long before the townsfolk had lost interest, with every hand going to either the strange, monotoned crouching man, or the charming, handsome man whose confident grin quickly antagonized his opponents. But they'd still earned enough through their fun to allow them to afford a recently printed analysis of Aristotle's Tragic Hero, the purchase would have been an unconscionable indulgence had they felt they had any real reason to economize. But with their destinies being determined the next day, money felt inconsequential.

Soon, Luke had settled beside his lover, nibbling at a light dinner and gazing into the hypnotic flame of one of the candles as Lucien read aloud. It was wonderfully distracting from the fact that, tomorrow, Lucien would be departing alone toward Rome, and Luke would be backtracking solo to Strasbourg. Initially he felt drowsy, relaxed; but as Lucien read on, the knight was disturbed.

"What are Light's thoughts?" Lucien's prompt came as he folded the pamphlet carefully away, having finished.

Luke hesitated, injecting some forced laughter in an attempt at levity. "I just realized I've never been curious about what happens after the tragedy ends."

This reaction was clearly not what Lucien had been expecting, and he stared mutely at his companion, a silent urging to elaborate.

Luke cleared his throat and propped his head in hand. "The Tragic Hero. It sounds exactly like me. And now I'm wondering what happens when the tragedy ends."

"That is a decidedly un-philosophical analysis," Lucien observed dryly, causing Luke to chuckle. "But I too noted similarities in the analysis and Light's character. Unnatural ability or wisdom at birth. _Hubris,_ excessive pride and _Hamartia,_ a tragic flaw that leads to downfall— _Peripeteia_ : a reversal of fortune. And one could argue that Light has even experienced _Anagnorisis_ ; a discovery of his own true nature, and the true nature of the world he inhabits."

"Right…" Luke trailed off.

For a stretch, the two men were silent in their reflections, the air filled only with the soft music of the wind in the grass, and the heady scent of the gardenias.

"Light is scared," Lucien said finally, though with tenderness.

That _hubris_ —Luke's excessive pride—flared for a second, but died just as quickly. There was no point in denying it.

"I didn't realize that little folio of yours would be so confronting. But yes, Lucien, I'm really scared."

"Light has assured me he will remain well outside of Rome, away from danger. There is nothing to be scared of, no doom of the tragic hero awaiting in Rome if Light does not invite it."

Luke sat up properly. "Don't be silly. I'm scared for _you_. And by proxy, me. I'm scared of fate, of the things I can't control that are hellbent on ruining everything I care about. I'm just praying that being a disgraced knight wanted for sodomy is sufficient downfall. But there's no bottom on this, I know it can always get worse. There's a good chance it will get worse. A 33% chance, you told me."

Lucien said nothing. They both knew Luke was right. The prince was scared too, no—terrified—that some unseen miscalculation would cost lives. That this mundane night, reading Aristotle, perfumed by white flowers, would be their last together. Lucien had also privately calculated there was a nearly 50% probability that the knight would not keep his word, and would contrive some way to go into Rome despite his promises. But arguing about it now would do nothing.

"Come here," Luke said softly. "Let me hold you."

The royal complied, folding himself easily into Luke's body.

"I have a suggestion," Luke continued, a rueful note colouring his voice as he stroked Lucien's back affectionately. "How about we forget sleeping tonight?"

xx

Dawn was unfriendly. It rose on the lovers, prying into the cracks of the old shed, piercing the velvet safety of a night that should have been endless. The chirping birds sounded shrill and urgent, and even their horses whickered frequently and impatiently where they were hitched outside. It felt like the universe was compensating in its insistence; reacting proportionately to how fervently both men had wished to delay the inevitable. All too soon, Luke was kissing Lucien goodbye, helping him mount, pointing him south in the direction of Rome.

"Light will keep his promise and return to Strasbourg, will he not?" Lucien, hunched atop his horse and gripping the reigns, could not help but press Luke into this last commitment.

"Yes…" Luke nodded half-heartedly. Tugging on the edges of his attention was a nasty, vaguely familiar feeling. He brushed it aside, wishing to be immersed in this moment. "And you promise me that I'll see you in Strasbourg. That you'll be safe."

"I promise." Lucien returned flatly. The sensation coiling in the pit of Luke's stomach intensified. Lucien gave his own belated nod, and then seemed to turn toward the road, ready to depart.

"Wait," Luke urged suddenly, closing the few steps to come right to the side of the prince's horse. "I'm not… I'm not going to tell you I love you. Because you'll only hear that once you're safe, back in your city. Alright?"

Lucien's impassive mask fractured into a knowing smile.

"Then I will not tell Light I love him back."

With that, Lucien quickly turned, spurred his horse, left.

xx

It was undeniable. Luke had long ago saddled his own horse, but he had been fighting paralysis for the better part of an hour, wrestling internally with the chilling feeling he had, to his dismay, pinpointed.

It was identical to the dread that had crippled him the afternoon before they'd reached the abbey, intensifying over the night until it finally came to its horrific fruition with the abbess' betrayal. As Lucien had said back then, Luke was indeed not one to be cowed by fleeting intuitions or fanciful 'premonitions.' But this one was too powerful, more like a honed battle instinct, a beacon of survival before triggering a trap.

Lucien was in danger. It was no longer an academic fact, a clinical percentage—it felt like a looming abyss gaping at Lucien's feet, Luke the only one who had a chance of pulling him back.

Strasbourg would be another meaningless place without Lucien. No, worse than that—it would be another ring of Luke's personal hell. When he contemplated traveling alone, reaching Strasbourg and waiting weeks or months for news of Lucien's success or failure, Luke felt crushed.

A terrible decision was coalescing in his consciousness, but he had known early on, perhaps always, without being aware he knew, that he was going to break his promise to stay out of Rome.

Luke trusted his abilities and his expert knowledge of the city enough that he wasn't especially worried about being able to reach the court of the Pope. Of course he risked being recognized, but that was easy enough to prepare for and circumvent if he was alone and didn't need to interact with anyone. But he was worried about what would happen once he arrived and if he found Lucien to be in danger. Hopefully, it only meant some more roguish adventures; Luke could repay Lucien for prison-breaking him back in France. But more realistically, he might be forced to offer himself as collateral for Lucien's ill-fated bargain.

Turning away from the horse shed, Luke looked northward. Back through Florence and Pisa, through Switzerland (though avoiding the nunnery forevermore), then Germany and France, with Strasbourg on the border.

Luke grit his teeth, rejecting this path, mounting decisively and heading southward.

xx

"His Holiness is immensely displeased."

King Phillip IV of France was reclining in an elaborately carved wooden chair that creaked with his slightest movement. Lucien cast a brief glance at the little devils and cherubs, frozen mid-dance in the wood by the King's head. Such creatures, though merely decorative, gave the monarch a sinister air, as if he were a king between the realms of heaven and hell, adjudicating mortal fates instead of making conversation with Lucien. This impression was made worse by Phillip's narrow eyes, pointed nose and thin lips, giving him a reptilian, diabolical cast.

"But His Holiness is amenable to my return to Strasbourg." Lucien had met the King on several occasions, and this sort of indirect cat-and-mouse conversation, where Phillip liked to play around the point, was routine.

"But His Holiness is immensely displeased," The French king repeated. "And, you've derailed some carefully laid plans I had to crush the Templars under my heel once and for all. I didn't want to be in Italy, negotiating _anything_."

"What are the terms the Pope has laid out?" Lucien was scheduled for audience with the Pope that evening, but in the interim had discovered that King Phillip had personally traveled to Rome to intercede on his behalf, though it would have been foolish to assume this was the monarch's only goal. The King and the Pope had already been in talks for days, chumming around and screaming vitriol in alternation.

"You know, he actually wouldn't say. Or, rather, he kept reversing himself. You see, Pope Clement wants to be my friend, _loves_ the protection offered by France. Being a new Pope is hard, after all. But he also wants to wage a new Holy War and he needs his Templars to do that. You've gotten yourself caught up on the wrong side of a scandal that is a very pointy thorn in Clement's side. As much as he wants to give me what I want, which is _not_ Church interference in the matters of French royals, he becomes incensed at the mere mention of that Captain… What's his name now. Captain David or somesuch. Clement detests the man."

"Sir Luke," Lucien corrected, careful to keep his voice uncaring.

"Whatever. You getting tangled up with this Templar fellow—and it matters not a whit whether the allegations are true and I couldn't care less one way or the other—is very, very bad for you, Lucien. The Pope is illogical on this issue. He hears and speaks reason one minute, and is screaming for you sodomites to be burned at the stake the next. Of course, it is completely within my power to… sway the balance. Stack the benefits in such a way that Clement cannot risk this personal vendetta. But, my dear Lucien, as I'm sure you are aware—you always were a smart fellow—I am not going to do this.

"You represent a limited advantage to me. Aside from this mis-step, you have ruled Strasbourg well. Perhaps even exceptionally. I like the _robust_ tax revenue I receive from your city. And I like you, to a degree. I like anyone capable of making me lots of money. But I have a nephew, he's 8 now. Or maybe 9. In any case, what I'm saying Lucien is that you are far from irreplaceable. Enough advisors and magistrates and my nephew will suffice as Prince of Strasbourg. What is not replaceable, however, is the chance to have Clement in my pocket, and to trick him into abolishing the Templars as if it were his idea all along. So, you see, if Clement wants a puppy to kick his frustrations out on, you might be a very good dog, but I'm not going to sacrifice the pack to save you."

Phillip shifted in his chair, eliciting a hideous creak from the wood, resting his chin on his fist, grinning cruelly. Presumably, he was waiting for Lucien to crumble, to weep or beg.

"I understand, Your Majesty." Lucien's answer was ready and flat. The only thing he had ever counted on from Phillip was the man's greed.

"Ha!" Phillip slapped his knee in delight, another screech from the tortured wood. "See, I said I liked you Lucien. No blubbering or denial. You've always seen it like it is, a man of good reason. I'll be wishing you luck in your audience with the Pope this evening. Though you might want to turn it up a notch on the repentance and circumspection. That blank face of yours is just going to make Clement madder."

"My Lord," Lucien intoned, inclining his head slightly by way of acknowledgement. He watched as Phillip rose to leave the small chamber, a room somewhere in the Church's many offices, serving as Lucien's prison cell for the moment. Guards had been posted outside the door.

Phillip had the doorknob in his hand when he paused and turned to Lucien once more.

"It's a shame you had to escape Captain Luden on your own like that. If Clement could get his hands on the man proper, you wouldn't be the puppy being kicked. Lucas eluding capture _really_ got under Clement's skin. I'm just sorry he's going to take it out on you."

The King gave a flippant smile that didn't suit his sharp features before exiting. Lucien merely inclined his head once more, biting back the desire to correct the King's careless mistake with Luke's name a second time.

xx

It had been child's play to sneak into the Church, though it could hardly be called sneaking when one was hiding in plain sight. Luke had merely donned a traveler's cloak and scarf, and with it being late in a dry summer, practically everyone was wearing similar garb to keep off the dust kicked up from the streets. For all the stress it had caused him, all the precautions he'd taken, now it hardly seemed as if Luke were being hunted seriously at all.

But that also could have been thanks to the fact that the entire city was like a whacked hornet's nest, utterly preoccupied and upheaved by the gossip that the wanted French Prince had turned himself in willingly to the Pope. With a public audience scheduled that evening, queues were already forming outside the Church's walls. Everyone wanted a piece of the action, and the agitated whispers were that the new Pope Clement seemed awfully eager to indulge the city's bloodlust for burnings at the stake.

Luke spent the couple hours collecting his thoughts, even allowing himself to reminisce. He remembered Lucien, out of the blue, offering to give him a massage, and the conflicted panic it had set off. Lucien licking jam off a plate, totally uncaring of Miriam and Martin staring on in horror. Discussing the stars together in the Swiss mountains. Their reunion. The chaotic mob at the Strasbourg gates that had started it all, where Luke had felled several castle staff with his own blade. The time he had gotten a cake late at night for Lucien. Their first kiss. Their last one.

All at once, the hour of the audience had arrived, and Luke was carried by the crowd like a leaf on a wave into the inner sanctum. A room he'd been in countless times before, but always on top of the dais looking down, never with the riffraff like this, gawking upward.

He knew how these proceedings went, having performed guard duty for innumerable audiences before, but Pope Clement's arrival felt cataclysmic and unpredictable all the same. Luke's heart was galloping in his chest, fed by adrenaline tinged with hatred for Clement, and more adrenaline on top of that because he would be seeing Lucien soon. If all went well, he'd act like any other member of the crowd, then slip out with the rest of the citizenry, continuing on to Strasbourg as if he'd never broken his promise. Luke sent a prayer that this was all that would be required of him.

But as Clement droned on in his empty sanctification of the coming proceedings, the cold dread in Luke's guts wriggled and writhed, bringing up a bubbling nausea.

Luke changed his prayer. _Please just let Lucien survive this._

And suddenly, as if the knight's silent prayers had summoned him, Lucien appeared on the dais from the left, manacled and escorted by knights Luke immediately recognized. Luke felt like he'd been punched in the stomach, all the air had left him so instantaneously. He stifled gasping breaths, struggling to avoid drawing attention. He was thankful when Lucien was brought to stand in front of the Pope, the prince having never cast a glance into the onlookers. That might have been more than Luke could have withstood.

"This audience has been summoned for the purpose of adjudicating the accused crimes of Lucien Lawliet, Prince of Strasbourg," the officiant called out. "His Most Holy, Pope Clement V presides, God keep Him."

Approving murmurs emanated from the crowd, many echoing 'God keep Him,' with Clement magnanimously nodding and holding up his hand in blessing. The officiant turned, addressing Lucien now.

"Lucien Lawliet, you stand accused of heresy, blasphemy, apostasy and sodomy. What is your response to these crimes of which you stand accused?"

Smartly, Lucien bowed in deference to the Pope before looking pointedly back at the officiant.

"You may speak," the officiant confirmed.

Lucien's voice came clear and firm. "I am innocent, Holy Father."

Boos and jeers erupted from the crowd, and Luke was jostled in the momentary furor. Likely, Luke was Lucien's singular friend in that enormous room, for certainly no Italian held any sympathy for a bizarre-looking Frenchman accused of homosexual profligacy and hating God.

"Silence, silence!" The officiant cried out, futilely at first, but when several Templar guards stepped forward menacingly, the crowd settled.

"Where is Luke?" The Pope's sudden question, cutting through proper protocol, stunned the knight momentarily, and spoke eloquent volumes about exactly where Clement's mind was.

"Your Holiness, I do not know. He cut me loose outside Rome, and I came immediately to Your Eminence, a friend of His Majesty King Phillip IV, to clear my innocent name."

"That defies belief!" Clement growled savagely, jerking forward on his golden throne to peer threateningly at Lucien. "Why would Luke not hold you hostage, or kill you on the spot as he should have?"

"Holy Father, I cannot speak as to Luke's reasoning for not killing me, but he released me with the intent to make his own escape much easier. I was a hindrance to him."

"And why not in Switzerland? How did a maggot like you and a degenerate like Luke make it all the way through Italy, only for him to change his mind in Rome? Luke is many things, but he is not an idiot. He's a coward who would run as far from my enforcement as possible, and yet you say he brought you to the outskirts of Rome itself?"

Luke's breast roiled and his nails cut into the palms of his clenched fists. But Lucien's answer was steady and prepared.

"Your Excellency, I can only guess that Luke's intention was to escape into familiar terrain, as he may have had the belief his knowledge of the area would be an advantage, and that my probable capture would be a useful distraction."

Clement huffed, a violent sound between a laugh and a growl. "You mean to tell me that you can only guess at the thoughts of your partner in debauchery? Surely two godforsaken, hell-bound deviants share their darkest, most wretched secrets with each other."

"Holy Father," Lucien continued, so calm, "I was never the consenting lover of Captain Luke. I am innocent of all sins I am accused of. The incident at the abbey was the fortunate interruption of Sir Luke's assault on my person."

Somehow, though it was hardly possible for him to be honest, Lucien's bald lie still knifed a little at Luke's heart.

More worrisome was that the prince's cool demeanor seemed to provoking the Pope, who was becoming visibly redder. From the balconies reserved for nobles and city officials, someone cleared their throat pronouncedly.

"Your Holiness—" Lucien had meant to elaborate, and whether or not this was a miscalculation on his part, it was impossible to say. Perhaps the Pope had already arrived at his verdict, and Lucien's speaking was irrelevant. Perhaps the only thing that would have eased Clement would have been Lucien debasing himself, groveling.

"Silence! I'll not hear more of your lies!" Clement seethed. When the Pope got up from his throne, something wildly inappropriate in the face of audience conventions, Luke knew things were going very badly.

"This great city, the divine institution of the Church… we have been _plagued_ by your kind, by worms like Luke who burrow their way into our core to corrupt and rot. The agents of Satan! Of the Devil! Your kind must be exterminated! You are a blight on God's civilization! The root of evil!"

The echoes of Clement's ire blended into the rising screams of the cityfolk. Was everyone in the room riled for blood, no better than a pack of wild beasts? Luke gnashed his teeth at this farce of a trial. It was abundantly clear that Lucien was going to be scapegoated in order to satiate the frustrations of the crowd. The Pope's conflation, not only of Lucien and Luke (who had clearly fallen utterly from grace and was now despised) but also of Lucien with evil itself meant that there was hardly any chance to turn back. It was all past the point of logic. Clement and the Church, and by association Rome, had been disgraced by the insidious spreading rumours of the Templars, Luke being the most recent, raw and flagrant example.

As the officiant strained to becalm the mob, Luke thought to himself that even Lucien was capable of being a fool.

It was only when the officiant announced that it was time for the verdict and sentencing that the crowd hushed, though the room practically vibrated with pent up violence.

Lucien cut a lonely, pathetic figure as he stood alone in front of the Pope, watching as the officiant and Clement exchanged whispers. Once more from the balcony came a pronounced, unnatural cough, almost like a signal. It had come from a man with unusually rich clothes, and an unpleasant, angular face. Luke hoped against hope that this man, too, was on Lucien's side, perhaps a representative of King Phillip, attempting to gently remind the Pope not to lose all reason.

But Clement seemed insensible to anything except the fury he was boiling in.

"His Most Holy has delivered his verdict," the officiant announced as a matter of routine. The next words were hardly shocking. "Prince Lucien Lawliet, you have been found guilty of the crimes of which you are accused. In accordance with the divine laws of the Church, and with this most blessed land of Rome, you are hereby sentenced to—"

"Wait!"

Luke's voice rang out, instantly drawing incinerating, singular attention. Committed, Luke began pushing to the dais, removing his cape and scarf as he went. Gasps began to be heard as people recognized him, and suddenly the crowd had parted as if he were carrying the Black Death. Though he had prudently avoided reacting to Luke's initial shout, Lucien could not stop himself from looking at the man standing on the dais beside him. Luke only saw the movement of Lucien's head in his peripheral vision, because he could not predict how he'd react if they made proper eye contact. Luke kept his gaze trained carefully forward, glaring at Clement.

"I have come to confess."

It took Clement a moment before recognition set in, so profoundly unexpected was Luke's appearance. But the way the Pope recoiled made it clear he knew exactly who stood before him.

"Devil!" Clement hissed, eyes bulging as he made the sign of the cross.

 _Such dramatics_ , Luke could not help but think to himself. Since becoming Pope, Clement had never been high in Luke's esteem, but reacting to an ordinary man as if he were Leviathan burst from the sea to swallow humanity was the height of stupidity.

"Pope Clement," Luke continued, his voice echoing in the surprisingly quiet room. Presumably the screams and calls for execution would come after the people had recovered from their shock. "Your quarrel is with me. This man, as he claims, is innocent."

"Lies!" Clement shrieked, reduced to monosyllables.

"I have come to confess," Luke repeated. "I am guilty of the crimes of which Prince Lawliet stands accused. I am here to confess and receive the mercy of God and cleanse my soul before I receive punishment with honour. I am no coward, I will not run from you."

"Mercy!" The Pope parroted in disbelief, and Luke was nearly overcome by the urge to slap some intelligent language into that holy mouth.

"I confess to heresy, and to apostasy. I confess to being a sodomite. The crimes alleged by the abbess of St. Bernice nunnery were my attempts to bedevil and seduce my unwilling prisoner, as he has stated."

Finally, Luke's candid transparency jangled Clement out of his one-word fit.

"Why! Why would you come here! You come to bedevil _us_! Damn you! You cannot receive God's mercy! Damn you!"

"Perhaps," Luke replied as if he couldn't care less. "But I wish to die with my honour as a man, having confessed and unburdened my soul. If Your Holiness will allow me, I will deliver my total confession, and accept my punishment without resistance."

The Pope was at such a total loss, shaking and apoplectic on his throne, that the officiant had to step in when the silence became unmanageable.

"Proceed, Sir Luke."

"Thank you," Luke said genuinely, appreciating that the man had not stooped to omitting Luke's honorific, which, since he had not formally been de-knighted, still held. "I could not remain silent as I witnessed how my actions were about to rob an innocent man of his life. Though this would not be the first innocent blood on my hands."

With a grin, Luke turned his back on the Pope, an insult worthy of death in itself, to address the crowd. Every face he looked into was gaping back at him. Everyone knew they were looking at a dead man walking.

"Yes, I am guilty of breaking one of the most sacrosanct commandments. Thou shalt not kill. I have committed murders. How many, I cannot say, I lost count over the years. And you all lauded me as a hero. I, who have spilled an ocean of innocent blood, the blood of righteous people, people who had the right to live and enjoy their freedom. I did so at the behest of the Church, blindly following the corrupted edicts—"

"Seize him! SEIZE HIM!" Pope Clement's screeches once more precipitated a growing roar that soon became deafening. Perhaps it was lucky for Luke that he was arrested and immediately taken away, for the civilians looked ready to tear him limb from limb where he stood.

Luke exalted in his triumphant 'fuck you' for only an instant as he was removed, for in the next moment he caught sight of Lucien's expression for the first time. The prince was also lucky for the chaos that meant no attention was on him, because his heartbroken devastation was written clearly across his face.

xx

It was like a strange sense of deju vu, except this dungeon cell was much too hot, and the one back in France had been freezing cold. The air was fetid and stagnant, owing to the fact that this cell was an isolated, windowless cave, with room enough only for a single human and alone at the end of one long hewn-stone hallway, deep in the bowels of the Church. It would have been an _oubliette_ , except for the regular, hinged door and not a hole in the ceiling; prisoners of this cell were not meant to be just forgotten. Housing the worst of the worst, the fate that awaited the criminals led down here was far more awful than merely dying of thirst or hunger.

It was an inescapable, pitch black prison, much like the dark room he'd dreamt of in his nightmare at the abbey.

It gave Luke a queer feeling of peace, actually. This was the end of the road, there was no more guessing how the tragedy would conclude. Though he had been thrown in here before hearing his official sentence passed, he, along with every other person in this land, knew what it was. The pyre was probably being assembled now.

Luke mused on his impending death. He had always considered himself willing to sacrifice anything for a greater ideal, for his concept of justice and what was right. When he was younger, this had taken the form of the assumption he might die gloriously in battle, a martyr in holy wars defending Christendom. But once he had survived several such battles, his skill and instincts seeming to make him untouchable, self-sacrifice had become more abstract. Things like denial of personal pleasures, denial of the material wealth and luxury so many fellow Templars enjoyed as the army- _cum_ -banking system. Luke had always devoted his existence beyond the limits of himself, to a loftier set of values, intending to change the very reality of the world he lived in.

The last and only concern he had was whether or not Lucien had been freed. The prince should be seen as the victim now, since Luke had said himself that the allegations were the result of a one-sided, unsuccessful seduction. This vendetta had always been about removing Luke from his upward streak, with his unbuyable integrity, his popularity and dangerous influence. Luke just hoped he'd done a good enough job disentangling Lucien, making him look like an innocent bystander, in the brief time he'd been able to say his piece.

Shuffling footsteps pulled Luke's attention outward. It wasn't the walk of one of his guards, whose footsteps would have a military firmness. Just like in his nightmare, the black void was unseamed by the flickering of candlelight, the glowing aura half-blocked by the dark wall of a hallway corner. Luke couldn't help but hope that it was Lucien holding that candle, approaching.

The man rounded the corner; shorter than Luke, with terrible posture and shocks of black hair in disarray. Luke gasped at the impossibility in front of him, and dashed to the cell bars.

"Lucien—" One of Luke's arms was outstretched, reaching for his prince through the metal.

"I cannot rescue Light this time," Lucien interrupted, his hushed voice stained with dark tones Luke had never heard before. Luke's hand dropped a little.

"I know," the knight whispered back. The guards were posted a ways away, at the end of the hallway and in front of another locked door, the single way out. "How did you even get in?"

"I asked to speak with the man who sinned so gravely against me. I told them I had my own curses I wanted to offer Light."

"That's clever," Luke said readily, trying to compensate for the iciness in the royal's voice, radiating a glacial frozenness.

An awkward silence, then, a sudden thaw.

"I'll never forgive you," Lucien said, a strangled whisper. He came close enough to let Luke's hand find his, and close enough that the knight could see the wet shine in Lucien's large eyes.

Luke sagged against the bars, abruptly near tears himself. He lifted his hand to cup Lucien's cheek. "I know. I broke my promise to you."

"Neither Light nor I appear to be able to keep promises well," Lucien teased, leaning into Luke's caress. They smiled sadly at each other.

"But you're free," Luke breathed, pulling Lucien into a tender kiss. The rough rust of the metal cell bars scraped at his face. "Does that mean I succeeded?"

Lucien sighed heavily, taking a moment to set the candle on the ground. "Yes. Light has saved my life. At the unacceptable cost of his own."

Luke could not help but huff a few breathy, giddy laughs. The feeling of peace intensified, bordering on a morbid euphoria. It had worked. Lucien would live. His relief was so overwhelming it nearly muffled Lucien's words, but the heartbroken crack in the prince's voice shattered his calm.

"They are going to make me watch."

Luke shuddered. "What? No. No… you mustn't. You need to get out of Rome and return to Strasbourg right after you leave here."

"I cannot," Lucien murmured. "I am to travel with King Phillip, and Phillip has been formally invited to witness Light's execution. And I am expected to be elated that my tormentor is going to be punished."

Luke knew well enough that executions were public spectacles well-loved by the people. The more infamous, the more ignominious the criminal, the larger the crowd he would draw. It was equivalent to Phillip and Lucien being invited to a party, or an important diplomatic event.

"Lucien," Luke took the prince's face in both of his hands. "You cannot be there. I can't bear that. You have to fake illness, you have to slip away, anything—"

"No," Lucien whispered. His silent tears rolled across the backs of Luke's hands. "I will not leave Light to die alone."

"Don't be a fool! Do you know what happens? I'd love to say I'm going to die with dignity, but I've seen burnings at the stake. The screams are _terrible_. I want you to remember everything else about me, about our time together. I don't want you to have to hear my screams in your nightmares until the day you die. And, you can show no emotion. You said everyone thinks you're delighted by my punishment. If you do anything to make them think otherwise, your life may be in danger once more—"

Lucien tenderly pressed a finger to Luke's lips. "I will be there, tomorrow."

Luke felt his knees weaken, but he tried to hide it, to remain strong in front of Lucien who was visibly suffering like Luke had never seen before.

"Tomorrow?"

Lucien could only nod.

It made little difference, how many days Luke passed in this dark hole before the inevitable happened. But tomorrow…

Lucien was about to speak when a gruff shout echoed from the entrance. "Prince, your two minutes are finished. The prisoner is meant to be sequestered."

"A moment more," Lucien called back, ignoring the grumbling complaints from the guards. The two men might have thirty seconds more before the guards would personally come to escort the prince out.

Luke brought Lucien's face close enough to kiss the tear tracks away. "Go, my love. Make sure you don't look upset. Pretend like I've pissed you off one last time."

Lucien nodded and kissed Luke's brave smile. It would have been too painful to say those words, to tell each other 'I love you' for the last time.

Lucien looked ready to turn away, when something stopped him, and he faced Luke once more.

"Did Light know that some Eastern religions believe souls are reborn?"

Luke quickly recovered from being taken aback, realizing it was not a non-sequitur.

"How unlike you Lucien, to believe in such things." His smile was full of love. "But if we are reincarnated, I'd like to think our paths will meet again."

Lucien nodded. "I hope that Light is given a second chance to realize the world of justice that he envisioned."

"Given a second chance, I'll stop at nothing. I'll make a world where the innocent can live in peace. And I'll live with you. I promise."

Lucien replied by way of a non-smile, a look that seemed to say _remember, neither of us are good with our promises_. A non-smile that said _and I love you anyway._

And then he was gone.

xx

The sky was overcast; almost a green, muddy colour that was usually the harbinger of an intense storm. Everyone was abuzz with frantic talk that if the heavens were to open, heavy rains would necessarily delay the execution. But it was for naught—the bad weather had still not arrived by the set hour of the punishment.

Lucien was sitting to the right of King Phillip, on whose left sat Pope Clement. As fitting of a formal ceremony, their observation area had been elaborately equipped on a large balcony overlooking the enclosed plaza in front of the basilica. The two men were chatting amiably, presumably behaving like great friends now that the biggest insult to the dignity of the Church was about to be taken care of, both men likely privately thinking how well the death of Sir Luke would suit their secret purposes.

Mercifully, the prince was largely forgotten, and equally lucky was that his reticence and unreadable face where wholly in character, and drew little note. Lucien's eyes were locked downwards, on the massive, conical pile of wood with a large log upright at its centre. A servant was splashing oil from a bucket onto the wood. A weak perimeter had been set up around the pyre, though townsfolk were already jostling each other to get a closer look, to be nearer to this small moment of history. It mattered little—no one would be too close once the flames were blazing.

Lucien was declining a goblet of wine when the doors of the Church opened, emitting the officiant from the day before with a retinue of a few uniformed Templars. Time collapsed in on itself when the doors opened a second time: more guards. A tawny-haired man in a long white tunic at their centre, gagged and bound at the wrists. Of course. After the sacrilegious spectacle yesterday, Luke would not be given the chance to speak in public a second time.

The officiant climbed the short pedestal adjacent to the pyre, unfurling a scroll.

"Distinguished citizens of Rome," he announced, voice ringing off the plaza walls, "this man, Sir Luke DioNotte, Captain of the Knights Templar, has confessed to the sins of heresy, blasphemy, apostasy and sodomy, and has been sentenced to death by fire, by His Most Holy, Pope Clement V."

As if on cue, the crowd booed enthusiastically, many adding shouts of despicable slurs. Luke didn't react, instead staring resolutely forward, unseeing.

"However, before the sentence is to be carried out, His Eminence Pope Clement V has vested me with the power to strip Sir Luke of all his titles and credentials within the Knighthood. Please bring forth the prisoner."

Unsettled, excited murmurs now; no one had expected this. Formal Degradation of a knight was rare, usually a formality made useless by the imminent death of the officer in question. Luke's head twitched slightly upward, one tiny stray glance at the officiant. He probably hadn't been expecting this added humiliation.

Luke was no sooner ushered forward then the ranks of the guards had to close once around him once more; one of the townsfolk had thrown a rock that missed Luke's face only narrowly, precipitating a small riot that took several extra minutes to control. The officiant continued awkwardly, speaking out into the crowd instead of to Luke who should have been prostrate before him, but instead had to remain shielded by guards. But of course! One couldn't risk the safety of the prisoner, who needed to be in prime condition before being immolated alive.

"On the holy behalf of the Immaculate Pope Clement V, I hereby Degrade you of your Knighthood. You shall henceforth be recognized as a disgraced criminal, forfeit of the title Captain and Sir."

Luke was too obscured by the surrounding guards for Lucien to observe his reaction. Obviously, Luke had utterly lost his faith in the Church in the last months of his life, but Lucien knew too well how that _hubris_ —that pride—of Luke's would handle being publicly disgraced, robbed of the accomplishments he had earned fairly. The prince kept his expression carefully schooled, though a flare of rage on Luke's behalf blazed through him.

The officiant indicated towards the guards who broke into two groups; most expanding to enforce the perimeter, but three remaining to hold Luke, leading him up the make-shift steps to the narrow platform in the middle of the lashed bundles of wood.

Except for sight, Lucien's senses shut down, all at once. His entire body went numb, was empty; his ears no longer able to process the sounds of the restless crowd or the officiant reading out Luke's last rites. Lucien's eyes took in as the guards unbound Luke's wrists, only to tie his arms behind him to the pillar.

Suddenly, Luke was all alone, the three guards taking their places at the boundary of the crowd. Time seemed to hitch, just for a single moment, stretching eternally, ending abruptly.

Luke looked heavenward, his manner beatific, somehow radiantly beautiful. Lucien was overcome by the similarity to paintings he had seen of Saint Sebastian: a gorgeous youth who miraculously survived execution by a corrupt, Christian-hating emperor. The association triggered a single, bitter, coherent thought out of the abyss in Lucien's heart.

 _If Light's god exists, now would be the time for a divine intervention_.

None came.

Fire was brought instead.

Lucien realized that Luke had not been looking heavenward, but was staring into the balcony instead.

Pope Clement cursed loudly, wrongly assuming that Luke was glaring defiantly at him. They were a little too far above the plaza to accurately read facial expressions, but Lucien felt the power of the eye contact as if it were an arrow made of ice, piercing his heart.

Unnecessarily, Luke had been worried that Lucien's reaction would betray the truth, revealing the true love between them. But as Lucien watched a guard touch the lit torch to the pyre, the flames catching easily, a violent schism unfolded, and the prince had the sensation of being punched out of his physical body. His corporeal form was like a stringless puppet, a mute statue, unfazed and unflinching. It felt as if Lucien was watching himself watch the execution, from a place far, far away, smothered in total silence.

The silence, the complete otherworldly absence of sound, persisted as the pyre caught properly. Shimmers from the intense heat twisted Luke's form before being overtaken by billowing, sooty clouds of smoke. Soon, the foul black smoke hid the body inside completely, perhaps a small mercy in this senseless tragedy. Abstractly, Lucien wondered if—hoped—that the suffocating smoke would take Luke's life before the flames could sear him. Perhaps after all, Luke had managed to die in silent dignity, depriving the Pope and the bloodthirsty onlookers the satisfaction of hearing his tortured screams. Even the crowd seemed to be holding its collective breath, wondering if this anticlimax was all they were going to be rewarded with.

Then, at the same time the wind harshened, dispersing the smoke and revealing the inferno, a scream cleaved the air. A tormented, unnatural scream, distorted by the gag, defying comparison to any sound Lucien had ever heard before. The smoke had temporarily knocked Luke unconscious, only for the forsaken man to be woken by the cloth of his tunic catching fire.

Scream after scream rent the plaza, a hellish shrieking of burning agony, terror, indescribable suffering. Worse when the gag was burned away.

The crowd began cheering, their bloodlust slaked.

Lucien was clawing his way back to his body, needing to leave the shocked, remote place he was watching from. He needed control of his body so he could do something—anything—to stop that awful, haunting screaming that persisted even now, Luke's body lost to the flames, the quiet shroud of death taking far too long to fall.

In the moment before he made a fatal mistake, Lucien's senses returned, drowning his brain and body.

His hands were suddenly warmed, as if being held by someone who cherished them. His tongue was flooded with the taste of honey, of strawberries, and underneath that, of Luke. His ears were filled with tender laughter, and indistinct, comforting whispers that left no room for the screams below. But most powerfully of all, he was enveloped by the heady perfume of gardenia flowers; pristine and lovely, the scent of one last night filled with love.

Lucien's sight went black.

xx

Friday the 13th, in October of 1307, King Phillip IV's secret order was executed simultaneously across France, an impressive feat considering the total lack of mass communication. The King's men had received sealed letters bearing the royal crest a month before, around the same time Phillip had returned from a trip to Rome to firm his stranglehold over the Pope and intercede on behalf of the captured Prince of Strasbourg.

Every single Templar officer of distinction, from Knight Commander to Grand-Master to Royal Treasurer to Captain, was arrested in one fell swoop on charges of sodomy, heresy and devil-worship. Overnight, the Order was decapitated, and though this left no one in a position to collect on King Phillip's debts, the sudden collapse of the main banking system threw French currency into disastrous chaos. Pope Clement V performed the role of little more than a gawking bystander. Once the 'confessions' (often coincidentally obtained after the imprisonment and savage torture of the Templar officers) began rolling in at incredible volume, Clement was impotent to do aught but express his passive support for the King's purported righteous cleansing. Abandoned by their Pope, the Templar Order limped on for several years across Europe, until prolific burnings at the stake and more bullying from Phillip forced the Church to officially dissolve the disgraced Order permanently.

Two years after issuing this edict, Pope Clement V died, with legend claiming that while the Pope's body lay in state, a freakish storm raged with lightning striking the corpse, setting it on fire and all but destroying the holy remains.

The same month that King Phillip had returned to France, word of Luke's execution reached an isolated abbey in the Swiss mountains. The next day, a nun tending to the chicken coop discovered Miriam's body, the girl having leapt from the belfry during the night.

The merchant Martin Cavaradossi never discovered what happened to the nun he liked so well, but he did learn of Luke's fate in a Florentine pub on his trip homeward. That night he lost himself to inebriated reminiscing, but the remainder of his life was largely devoid of any further adventure and occupied primarily with his new career as a mid-level banker in Venice.

Prince Lucien Lawliet returned to his city that September, a phantom of a man but an even more formidable ruler. He was well respected and his return to Strasbourg was celebrated; his first major action upon being reinstated was a formal investigation into the conduct and character of the Archbishop. The supposed holy man had certainly been busy both during Lucien's absence and before coming to Strasbourg, and soon left France as a humiliated, de-frocked nobody.

But Lucien was not well loved, he was too distant to be loved. He never replaced Waltier with another trusted servant, forming no bonds with his staff, though he treated everyone respectfully. Meetings with his councilmen were always totally devoted to matters of governance, not even a second spent discussing personal matters. And although his advisors had been accustomed to his strange mannerisms prior to his arrest, and none allowed this to affect the quality of their service, they were all discomfited by the new, inhuman quality of their prince, returned from Rome.

Not even the two children, Lucien's royal cousins, tutored personally by the prince to be his successors (as it was known the prince would never marry), could easily describe any intimate knowledge of the man who diligently educated them. Strasbourg flourished as a free and just society, until the day, at the age of 35, Lucien was found slumped at his writing desk, cold to the touch. Castle staff attributed the cardiac arrest to Lucien's notoriously terrible sleep hygiene and diet, unaware of the private grief that had weakened his heart permanently.

xx

7 centuries later, in modern Japan, a handsome, bored teenager laughed as he picked up a black notebook, seemingly left there in the schoolyard as a silly prank.

xx


End file.
